


Behind Closed Doors

by kye_16



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fade Dream(s), Fluff, Kinda Romantic, Losing Clan Lavellan, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Referenced Bondage, Referenced Wax Play, Rimming, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 71,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kye_16/pseuds/kye_16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Behind-the-battles development of Inquisitor/Dorian romance, fleshing out days you'd never see, bits that justify the ship. Some mushy romantic sap, some flagrant porn. :) This is my first time building fic like this, or letting anyone read my stuff, so constructive criticism/comments are welcome and encouraged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Early

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was the last time Lavellan would let Dorian be gone so long... probably

                R'ae Lavellan dragged his tired body up the last few steps to his chambers. Yet another day of diplomatic meetings and signed accords had left him more drained than a full week of demon-slaying; he would take a pride demon over Comtesse Annique and her pet chevaliers any day. He unfastened his tunic and unlaced his breeches, heedless of where they fell to the floor behind him. The fire was already crackling in the hearth, but it could never truly keep the cold out of the air. R'ae didn't care tonight.

                He slipped last out of his smallclothes, tossing them into a small basket in the corner of the room, and pulled on loose Orlesian sleep pants to keep the chill off his skin. A stack of documents and reports sat on his desk waiting for his attention. He pulled the top one off of the heap, but there was no way he was going to make any sense of these damned things tonight. Why Josephine kept insisting he review anything she did was beyond him -- she was a skilled diplomat, politically savvy and a cunning negotiator. What was he supposed to offer? _Ugh_. He dropped the pages back where he'd found them and wandered over to his bed.

                He leaned on one of the pillars of his four-poster, a forlorn look in his face as he gazed down. Pillows were neatly arranged at the headboard, blankets smooth and even, soft furs folded at the foot. It was by far the most comfortable thing he'd ever slept in, but it disappointed him again tonight. The damned thing was still empty.

                Dorian had been gone over two weeks now on a job across the Frostbacks. R'ae had wanted badly to go but his advisors roundly refused; there was simply too much that needed his personal attention. The assignment the Tevinter was on included meeting with former "traitors" to the Imperium -- a few men and women who had been part of a failed political gambit a few years back, the only ones to escape with their lives. Dorian was integral to this meeting.

                _It better have been worth it_ , the elf grumbled to himself. This bitterness was selfish, unwise, foolish of him. He knew they would be apart plenty until he could finally draw out the enemy. It was foolish to get involved in the first place when they were still in such danger. He would be damned lucky if intermittent separation was the highest cost he would have to pay for falling in...

                Lightning arced across his shoulders and into the metal in his stained glass, rattling the balcony doors. R'ae shut his eyes and took a deep breath. If he were honest with himself, these endless social obligations were not the only reason he'd felt so worn lately. He let his breath out, resigned, and crawled into bed.

                The mattress had even been brought specially from Orlais, the one foolish excess he'd chosen himself after Dorian's constant teasing about sleeping better in the stables. The sheets were a lustrous cotton weave, soft on his bare skin as he closed his eyes. He nestled in, pulling blankets and pillows around him, when a familiar scent hit him. _Dorian_. It was one of the pillows, faint but sure, and it brought a small tightness in his chest. He closed his eyes and let it take him into memory. Soft hair, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady while he slept. Teasing eyes, knowing hands. Licking beads of sweat off his neck, listening to him cry out as --

                R'ae's eyes flew open again. He clenched his fist in frustration, but it was done; he could feel warmth spreading into his legs, tension building at the base of his spine. _Good job, Lavellan._ He tried to chastise himself, redirect his thoughts, but to no avail. He could hear his lover's ragged breaths, see flashes of his writhing form in his mind's eye. He closed his eyes and let his forehead drop onto the bed, shoulders up, hands knit in his silver hair. The faint human scent seemed a tease as he felt himself grow hard against the bed. He rocked his hips almost involuntarily. He ached for what he could not have.

                Rolling over onto his back, he cast his eyes about before pulling himself up on the small mound of pillows. _He's not here. It'll be days before I can get him back in this bed._ R'ae let a small tense laugh escape. _If he makes it to the bed. Bastard._ He imagined them collapsed on the stairs, clothes in tatters as his deft fingers found his lover's hard cock, drawing low groans from him with each stroke.

                _Not helping_. The fabric of his pants strained unhelpfully against his groin, holding him at a now-awkward angle. He reached down to adjust, but, well... it's wasn't like there was anyone else in the room. He slid two thumbs under the waistband and shucked them entirely, pushing down the covers in the process, leaving his lithe, pale body exposed. He let one hand linger on his thigh for a just a moment before grasping the base of his shaft. His lips parted as he pulled slowly up his length -- faster down, then slow again, letting the tension in him build. His pale grey eyes rolled back, closing, and in his mind he looked up to see golden eyes staring down at him.

                "Impatient, amatus?" One side of his dream's mouth quirked up in amusement. So like Dorian to mock him at a time like this. His lover's face lowered until they were almost touching. R'ae's grip tightened as his strokes quickened. "Just what have you been doing while I've been away?"

                "Nothing. God, nothing," he replied, voice wavering. "Just fucking waiting." He imagined those soft lips, that quick tongue on his neck as he turned his head, eyes shut tight. The warm body above him, one thigh between his legs, parting them further. A moan escaped into the quiet room as R'ae worked himself, rocking under his fantasy. He wished he could weave his fingers into that dark hair, feel strong muscle and soft skin under his hands... he wanted so badly to reach down and feel...

                "Dorian." R'ae drew one thigh up, wrapping his free hand under his ass as he stroked. "Oh, please."

                "Well if you're going to ask so nicely, who am I to deny you?" The elf jerked upright, grabbing the blankets over himself as Dorian's voice echoed off the stone. R'ae hadn't heard him come in, but sure enough there he stood, leaning against the stone railing. His posture and words were meant to be casual, but his voice was too deep and his form too tense.

                " _Fenedhis_! I nearly jumped out of my damn skin." A small smile lit on the human's mouth as a blush rose to the elf's face. "... I wasn't expecting anyone." He looked away and fussed with the quilts, trying to cover the small mountain he was sure he was creating. "When did you get back?"

                "Wrong question, amatus. You _should_ be asking whether or not I want you to continue." R'ae looked up and caught his gaze as he slowly crossed the room. His hands moved carefully to the leather fasteners on his robes, never looking away. _Just watching me has him turned on as hell._ "Unless you'd rather I leave, of course."

                R'ae's cock throbbed under the covers. His legs ached, his mouth went dry, and it was all he could do to still his hips, but he still managed a smirk. "You've probably had a long trip. If you'd _rather_ go back to your own room and sleep..." He started to slide the blanket down his waist. "... I'd understand." One hand slid down under the cover, making clear it was wrapping itself around his cock. Once, twice, three times. _Shit_ , he thought, pleasure whipping through him. _This won't be much of a show_.

                Dorian stopped at the foot of the bed now. With one hand he caught the foot of the blanket and pulled it down to expose the other man. He watched R'ae's head fall back against the pillows again as he pulled at his shaft, eyes unfocusing as his breathing began to catch. The Tevinter tried for calm and graceful as he pulled off his robes, but his whole body was tense with need. He couldn't look away. They had been apart far too long.

                R'ae could no more keep his eyes off Dorian. His strokes quickened as clothing fell away to expose dark, flawless skin. He moved his second hand down between his legs and gently took hold of his balls, pulling and massaging them in rhythm. He was writhing on the bed, breath ragged, small sounds escaping his mouth. _You like this? You love that my pleasure is all about you. Even when you're away, I.._. His eyes rolled shut and his head rolled back. A ball of heat was forming inside him. "Tell me how badly you want this," he breathed. "Tell me you want me to come."

                Two firm hands had him by the wrists then, pulling his arms up and his eyes open. Dorian was on him, naked and hot, mouth pushing hungry and insistent down on his. R'ae whimpered, hips forcing themselves up against his lover, breath coming hard and fast. He pushed up against Dorian's hands but they held him firm. "Maker, but you torture me so easily." His mouth worked down R'ae's neck, tasting the sheen of sweat, biting as he went. He ran his tongue down his lover's heaving chest, looking up to watch his face as he took a nipple into his mouth. _Gods, that tongue!_

                R'ae squirmed beneath him, legs pushing weakly at the bed. Dorian responded by releasing one hand to grab his lover's thigh, pushing the leg out and up, making room for his sculpted body. He muttered a quick word and with a flick of his fingers sent magic flying along the elf's skin, pulling the loose hand above his head. A flushed face looked down at him in surprise.         

                "I can lift massive metal grating three times your height. You're surprised I can hold you?" He moved his hand down to wrap around his lover's shaft, making him cry out. R'ae gritted his teeth as he felt Dorian's touch -- certain and strong, but so slow as to be agony, bringing a groan to his lips. "You like when I hold you?" He ran kisses down his abdomen, slowly licking the slick wetness R'ae had spilled onto the skin just above his groin.

                "... yes... please yes." If his face felt hot, his body was on fire. Heat flooded through his thighs, radiating out from his hard cock. _If I have to hold on any longer..._ Wetness slid out of him, which Dorian only used to slide his hand more easily across his aching head. "Please, Dorian... gods, please," he begged.

                A deft tongue licked at his tip, and his hips bucked. Not yet. His frantic gaze lit on his lover's face. Dorian was watching every reaction, every shudder, catching every sound that tore itself from his lips. As R'ae watched, he took his cock into his mouth, deeper and deeper. He released the elf's other hand then. He pushed both legs over his shoulders before bringing his fingers up to push at the tight little entrance between them. Gods, how badly did he want Dorian in him! He could feel himself cresting then, even thinking about it, his lover's hot mouth working his cock faster and faster...

                "Dorian! I'm... I..." A strangled cry escaped him, guttural and wordless as the human at his hips hung on all the tighter. His mouth and hands rode the elf as he bucked, half his body rising off the bed, free hand clenching his lover's arm. The mage held him as he came hard, slowing his pace and drawing it out of him, siphoning his pleasure as one would draw poison from a wound, reveling in the sounds that fell unbidden from elven lips. R'ae twitched and shuddered under him as it subsided. He was speechless as Dorian left kisses on his inner thighs, the bone of his hip, the fragile skin on his abdomen. He raised his free arm to trail fingers along his lover as he crawled up the bed to meet him.

                "Miss me?" A flick of fingers and R'ae felt a small snap on his skin as the spell holding him was dismissed. He brought his hand down to Dorian's face and pulled him into a deep kiss. He could taste brandy somewhere under the taste of himself. Their bodies tangled together as they embraced, two halves finding the spots where they fit together before finally pulling out of the kiss. "You know it couldn't be helped."

                R'ae sighed. "Doesn't mean it was enjoyable. Now _this_..." His free hand tickled across Dorian's lower back, causing him to push his still-hard cock into the elf as he twisted away.

                "Now, now! No need to resort to that." R'ae laughed out loud, pulling him in for another kiss and drawing a soft sound from him. "I'm perfectly willing to hear your demands without resorting to torture."        

                " Because torture is your province exclusively?"

                "Precisely." Quick human kisses fell across the elven face, eyelids, neck. _Mmm._ R'ae rolled into him. He enjoyed that his lover was still ready against him.

                "I'd say you missed me too, _vhenan_ ," he whispered, holding him tight as those hips pressed into Dorian's hardness. A quiet breath escaped his lips, eyes dark and eager.

                "I'd say we'll need tomorrow's meals delivered."


	2. Whoops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not fair when the fate of the world threatens to preclude the happiness of the one sworn to save it.
> 
> No porn, some headspace.

                The whole affair had started innocently enough (as innocent as delightfully torrid sex could be). The incessant flirting and stolen kisses had been just the right amount of teasing, and by the time Dorian had come to his quarters Lavellan would have given anything to keep him there. It had been all sweating flesh and amazing orgasms after that -- stealing down the stairs unwatched, urgent mouths in the dark, hands and sighs and torn trousers. By the gods, that man was talented.

                R'ae should have been more cautious. The Tevinter had hang-ups like dragons had teeth, which was to say they were huge and plentiful and bloody dangerous if underestimated, and so he'd tread carefully, reassuringly. It wasn't just that he didn't want to scare him off. He legitimately didn't want Dorian to feel he was being used. It had made him careless, really... in effect, he'd let Dorian's defences be the only ones between them.

                Every small advance R'ae had made to prove he wasn't just in it for the sex was coming back down on his head now. Every secret smile across the room. All the time they spent together in the afterglow, laughing and touching. Kisses that began to fall from undiluted affection, free of lust. The sheer enjoyment of just being near, of casual touch and inside jokes and stolen sips of private reserve. The trust and intimacy that came with letting magic flow freely from one body to another. He should have stayed his hand, established limits, but it was too damn late now.

                He'd made the timeless mistake. He'd fallen madly and helplessly in love.

                It wasn't just being the Inquisitor, or that they were both men. Presumably as a feeling sentient being he was freely allowed to find another. He had been raised in a culture that taught him to love openly and with a pure heart, and in the face of the violence and hatred and loss that was tearing Thedas apart he believed in that teaching more than ever. He just didn't know if the price was too steep.

                Out of respect for Dorian, R'ae had yet to breathe a word of their trysts to anyone. He was pretty sure at least some of their companions knew -- Sera, for one, kept laughing uproariously at anything remotely phallic (although that wasn't exactly a huge change), and there was no keeping anything from The Iron Bull. Varric had taken up humming to himself behind a knowing smile whenever they would show up too soon after each other. Outside of them, though (and some scandalous tavern rumours), he was still just the Inquisitor -- an idea, a symbol, not a man to have wants or concerns outside their noble cause -- and Dorian seemed perfectly content to leave it that way. On a good day, Lavellan understood; the Tevinter had spent his life trying to protect himself from what he wanted, tried to train his desires the way you would train a dog. He may have found his own feet and his own path now, but that conditioning was still alive and well. It should have been enough that he was not just willing but happy to be with the elf outside of sex, rumours be damned.

                On a bad day, it felt like Dorian was just one more person hiding behind the illusion of Lavellan the Inquisitor, the icon, the non-person. It made him feel like the one being used, letting the Tevinter live out what his heart could only want in secret, playing at being whole while the Inquisition gave him the excuse he needed to stay around.

                And on a really bad day? On a really bad day Lavellan was just a lost Dalish in a human crowd. He wore the weight of the world because he could and because they needed it, and more terrifying than the idea of being in love was the idea that he was he was just clinging frantically to this beautiful human man to prevent being swept away.

                Even on the good days, the question of "after" had started to nag at his mind. He was dying to pick Dorian's brain about it but couldn't find the courage. Would there still be an Inquisition? If he remained as Inquisitor and helped these cobbled-together mortals reshape the tapestry of Thedas, would the other man stay? Once Corypheus was defeated he'd have no reason to, and Creators knew he had no deep love of Ferelden itself. If R'ae was free to go after it all though, it wouldn't be any better. He couldn't very well expect a highborn Altus to live barefoot in the wilds with his clan. It was even more preposterous to think of them returning to Tevinter -- he'd be a heretic in a land where elves were slaves and men married women for their breeding qualities, and not even the Pavus name would protect them there.

                This was usually where Lavellan's thought process forced itself to an end. There was no reason to think of "after". He needed to focus on today. He needed to learn how to leave Dorian behind in Skyhold where it was safe, away from Venatori and darkspawn and the undead. Every blow that fell, every arrow that found its mark had become a dangerous distraction now, one he could not afford on the battlefield.

               R'ae always found himself back at the same place, the same question, every time. When you're in love with someone who may not love you, with whom you probably had no future, someone that may cost you your life, when it risked the safety of the entire material world ... was it unforgivably irresponsible for the Inquisitor to keep this up?

                When the unbidden, unavoidable answer rose in his mind, it always met the same resistance. Unfair. He deserved to be happy. He had the same right to love and be loved as anyone else, the Imperium and Corypheus and Mother Giselle be damned. He was asking leading questions to get an easy answer when in truth there was none.

 

 

                Wind swept across the battlements, lifting a few silver strands off his face. He had been sitting and watching the snow-covered wastes for a good half-hour, hoping the quiet and the cold would help him refocus. Fat lot of good that had done. He was found grumbling to himself in resignation when a young girl threw herself breathlessly up the last few steps, package in hand.

                "There you are, ser! I mean, your Worship....ness... uh... ser..." The kid looked sheepishly down at her scuffed old boots. Lavellan didn't bother to stifle a good-natured chuckle. She might have been what, eight?

                "Sir is fine, relax." He stood, stretching inaction out of his long limbs. "What brings you, my lady?" Her little arm stretched out tentatively, innocuous little sack in hand.

                "It's from Master Pavus, ser. Says it's important Inquisition business." She glowed proudly at her success. "Gave me some coppers for my trouble an' everythin', said he knew who could be trusted to get a job done 'round here." R'ae's grin nearly split his face, though he managed to hold a full-blown laugh in check as he took the offered token.

                "Well he obviously chose wisely. What's your name, child?"

                "Mina! Me mum, Lytta, she's a cook here, but I'mma be a knight mysself." Her little chin tilted up proudly.

                "Well then I suspect you shall be seeing a lot more of Commander Cullen in a few years. He only trains the best." Her tiny cheeks flushed bright red at that, eyes focusing intently on her suddenly-shuffling feet.

                "Um... yeah... guess so. Doesn't matter. Can... I mean... I hafta get back to the kitchens, ser." _Hee hee!_

                "Go on, Mina. Be well." She darted back down the stairs in a flash, leaving R'ae to laugh at the little world they were creating. He'd never enjoyed meeting one of Cullen's admirers so thoroughly.

                He started down the steps himself, opening the modest (but ever-fashionable) little bag in his hand. The first of the two things he fished out was a simple piece of parchment; small, folded in quarters, Dorian's flowing script leaving only one word: _Sunset_. _I suspect we'll make it to tonight's_ , the elf thought to himself. _No archdemons around yet._ He pocketed the note and pulled out the second thing, a small box bearing a symbol he didn't recognize.

                He pulled open the lid, face flushing immediately when he recognized the contents, and he prayed to whatever gods were still around to hear him that no one was watching. A musky smell wafted out from around a brand-new pot of oil, full and waiting. _Sunset_. Heat radiated from Lavellan's neck as he shut the box and shoved it back into the bag. _All the nerve, sending something like that along with a kid!_ Wherever he was, he knew Dorian must be laughing uproariously at himself right now.

                All the same... R'ae opened the bag again, taking in the heady scent. It wasn't the stuff Dorian normally kept on hand, not the spiced amber fluid he knew the man favoured. This stuff smelled of herbs, more of dark woods and the wilds. In fact, it smelled almost exactly like the perfumes that had been left burning to scent his guest room in Orlais last time Josephine had dragged him there. It was the only bit of noble extravagance he'd allowed in his quarters (within reason, he'd kept the bed), and he'd insisted on going back to his own room that night. He'd taken his lover over and over, head and heart on fire, completely intoxicated by the way the smell had mingled with Dorian's own alluring scent.

                A small smile began to play over his lips. It was already late afternoon. He had enough time to get some dinner, maybe even to sneak out some of the good stores again. If he did decide to visit Dorian, of course, which he certainly didn't have to! That said... he _was_ the Inquisitor. Who was he to turn down one of his own people? The burdens of responsibility.


	3. Into the Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shenanigans at Halamshiral were tiring for everyone (except somehow Leliana and Solas, but that's another story). How much further could you get from aravels in the Free Marches?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O MY. I had no idea I had this kind of fluff in me. Smut coming up next, so enjoy it while it lasts.

                It always amazed R'ae how warm it was in Orlais. The night air was refreshing without a hint of the cold he was slowly becoming accustomed to at the keep. With no one around to see, he allowed himself a private smile. By the gods, he missed being warm. He'd grown up in the north where nothing ever really froze, and no matter how many fires he lit in Skyhold, the mountain air in the keep would never let him forget it. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, he slipped quietly down the steps and into the tall trellises of the royal gardens. Light and sound resonated over the balcony behind him, but the elf didn't give it a second glance. He'd had enough intrigue and pageantry for one night, and he needed a moment's peace if he were going to make it through.

                He shook his head at the sound of his own footfalls, soft sounds from the stiff leather boots Josie had convinced him to wear to the ball. There was no amount of oil that was going to make these damned things truly civilized; they were made for show and spectacle, after all, and no one of note wore anything that would betray utility. He considered losing them in favour of bare feet on the polished stone and almost laughed aloud. As if these people needed their foolish stereotypes reinforced any further! He could hear the rumours now... _The Inquisitor spotted frolicking barefoot amongst the wildlife, there's an elf for you! This is exactly why they're never invited._ Except as servants, he thought coldly.

                R'ae shook the derision from his mind. Almost a decade he'd pushed himself, worked hard to be rid of the rage he'd felt and the hate it had fed on. He refused to let the stress of one gala get to him like this. With a small smile, he raised a delicate hand to a nearby blossom. The petals were soft on his hand and the scent almost too sweet, falling off as if it were waiting to be touched, admired. _As if this were wildlife_ , he thought to himself with a quiet laugh. Half these flowers were from even further north than he, hothouse flora that should never thrive in a climate with even this moderate amount of variation. The other half must have been hybrids -- one vine looked almost like orchids and lilies winding up a sturdy stalk of felandaris, except less hardy and more exotic and... were those stamen actually glowing? He laughed out loud and kept walking.

                He slowed as he rounded a corner of shrub and vine-covered lattice. A softly lit pool lay in a crossroads, bubbling softly down across shell-shaped tiers, beyond an archway adorned in what had likely once been crystal grace. The elf shook his head and almost laughed again but for the sound of footfalls. Soft scuffs like his own, coming from the direction he had come.

                His right hand moved back reflexively, searching for a staff at his back. His left hand flexed outward from his body. When had that become habit? He could not see for the leather gloves, but the tickle on his skin reminded him always of the mark he bore. The glove meant nothing to it, and clearly he had begun to think of it as part of him. It struck a small note of sadness in the back of his mind. He ignored it.

                R'ae let a slow, silent breath sit in his lungs as he listened. The footfalls were obviously different when he minded them -- somehow both heavier and more graceful, less creaking leather and shuffling buckles. He parted his lips and let the air slip out slowly. He felt the Fade race across his skin as he opened himself to it, raising the soft hairs along his arms and up his neck. It teased his body like a small current, running into his eyes and across his lips, down and into his lungs, becoming a part of his muscle and flesh. He let himself feel its pull as he focused his attention on the oncomer, letting his arms fall ever so slowly back down to his sides, a cool sensation on his lips as he began to draw another breath.

                "Thank the Maker. At least you're not completely hopeless," came a teasing voice. "There's no such thing as safety at a social function of this magnitude."

                " _Dorian!!_ " R'ae rounded the corner to see the man from Tevinter wandering up the path he'd come, the soft garden light flattering on his features. An amused smile played on his lips, eyes knowing. The elf felt a small crack as he lost focus, the Fade pulling back and leaving him just a foreign man in a foreign garden. "You're cruel. I could have lit half this courtyard on fire."

                "Don't be silly. You're terrible with fire." Dorian stopped short in front of the shorter man, just closer than was entirely proper. "Now if you threatened to rend the sky, I'd buy it." He looked about, taking a deep breath. R'ae couldn't help but be conscious of him. He didn't know if it was intentional -- with Dorian, gods knew it easily could be -- but every small move seemed measured, smooth. The way he tilted his chin up as he looked aside, stretching his neck ever so slightly. Shoulders back and steady while his chest rose. The teasing disinterest as he pretended to examine their surroundings. "What brings the Inquisitor to the fashionably dull courtyard at a time like this?"

                "A desire for the fashionably dull, apparently" he countered. "Glad you could make it." Dorian laughed out loud.

                "So cold," he chuckled. "But I am glad to oblige, as ever." He walked past the elf, moonlight glistening on his dark hair. He took in the sight of the pool further down, the winding trellises and fastidiously trimmed plant life. The night air brought soft scents and a whisper of leaves across the quiet notes drifting out from the ball. "I would think a man raised among plants would find such a display distasteful. Does this not smack of the excesses of human nobility?"        

                R'ae smiled and chuckled. "I grew up in a forest, Dorian. This is about as far from that as you can get." He took a couple steps to pull level with his companion. "I grew up knowing plant life as wild, strong, as life to be respected." He turned to face the other man and reached past him, just a few inches away, and pulled down a vine covered in small glowing flowers. "I also grew up knowing magic as a tool, as a reality about which we must be careful and never frivolous, and which must be practiced pragmatically and cautiously. This," he remarked, gesturing with the vine before letting it spring back into perfect form, "is not only foreign, it's completely antithetical to everything I was taught. And yet... it's... beautiful."

                "Beautiful?"

                "Yeah." Dorian chuckled, taking a few steps toward the archway, moving purposefully through the space R'ae had just stretched his arm.

                "You really are something sometimes. You lead armies, kill cultists, hunt high dragons, defy the laws of magic... and think _gardens_ are _pretty_." He shook his head, almost as if at himself in part. "You have yet to stop surprising me." Delighted laughs from inside the ball broke suddenly over the night air, carrying across the soft tones of the band.

                "Shit, Dorian..."

                "Oh, get over it."

                "You know what they'll say." R'ae cast a glance back toward the party. "You should get back before they notice you're gone. That _we're_ gone." The elf kept his glance in the direction of the gala, refusing to look at the other man. "The rumours are already--"

                "Ha!" Dorian's sharp laugh cut him off. "My dear Inquisitor, I was noticed the minute I left. As were you." A gloved hand touched the far side of R'ae's face, pulling his chin and his gaze back where they wanted to be. "This is Orlais. Or have the night's proceedings not yet taught you that you are never truly alone here?"

                The elf's pale eyes fixed his lover's before searching his face. The human's eyes wavered slightly, but did not falter. "Dorian... this matters to you."

                "You're right." He took a step forward. " _This_ does." He sighed, and let his fingers trail as his hand fell. R'ae caught it in his own.

                "You don't have to do this."

                "It's already done." Dorian flashed him a small smile. "The Inquisitor and the magister, sneaking off into the gardens. So if we're already going to be the centre of rumour, should we not at least make the most of it?" R'ae chuckled, letting his light elven fingers run halfway up his human's arm as he closed the distance. Dorian's hand slid gently onto his waist. Heat radiated out from their bodies, each feeling the other, so close. Each breath became measured, careful.

                Then, with a grin, Dorian reached up with his free hand. With a few whispered words, tiny flickers of light danced out and around them, tiny glows like fireflies twinkling amongst the flowers. R'ae laughed, looking up at them even as pressing himself closer.

                "How did you...?"

                "Please. Childish light trick. I've known how to do it since before I learned how to swim." His mouth quirked into a one-sided grin as he studied the elf's face. "Tell no one, or someone may start a rumour about what a romantic you are." R'ae laughed.

                "I think your secret's safe." He turned his face back to Dorian's. He was helpless at this distance; the definition in his face, the upturned corner of his knowing grin, his delicious scent, and the soft eyes that betrayed their owner completely. The tiny lights danced across his skin as R'ae brought his free hand up. He ran his thumb along Dorian's jaw as he moved his hand back, fingers along his neck. The taller man's lips parted slightly as he pulled gently against his lover's hip. Delicate elven fingers wove themselves into short dark hair as R'ae brought his mouth up to meet Dorian's, lips soft and warm.

                Dorian was always so cautious, so self-conscious when they kissed. At first it had seemed almost like an addendum to other acts, a way to keep the elf from seeing what he did, to make him focus on other sensations instead of the kiss itself, ironically. When R'ae kept coming back it had drawn out a fast-growing affection, and the kisses changed -- his body was frequently still now, cautious, his movements deliberate and considered at first. But tonight...

                Tonight was different. Their lips met and for once, Dorian's eyes closed first. They kissed once, twice, three times. R'ae's tongue ran quick and teasing across his lover's open lips, sliding in just slightly and back out again, making his breath come more heavily. The elf almost moaned as he felt his human's body respond against him, felt his hips shift, the hand at his back holding him firm. Fingertips brushed his face ever so gently. He was here tonight. A would-be godling lay ahead and a civil war behind them, politics and covert machinations and fragile egos on all sides, but he was here tonight. _They_ were here, surrounded by constructed life and the soft sounds of water falling, and twinkling light dancing on their faces as they kissed.

            


	4. Constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not like their friends haven't figured it out by now. No one is surprised when the two mages disappear shortly after nightfall. No one wants to be the person to go find them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may turn this into two chapters, it's kinda long to just be one. I blame the boys for not being able to just shut up and get down to business. :D

                "I am telling you, you're wrong." R'ae folded his arms defiantly at the man sitting next to him. "What self-respecting hell-god would choose to look like an owl, anyway?" Dorian sniffed haughtily at Lavellan's assessment.

                "Lusacan did not _choose_ to look like an owl, thank you. The owl is a _symbol_."

                "Of what, his good night vision?"

                "He was considered a god of darkness, the dragon of night. It's not so odd that he was represented by a nocturnal bird of prey. And he wasn't a hell-god."

                "Bet he was. And it is so! If he was a dragon god, why not represent him with a dragon?"

                "They were _all_ dragon gods, in case your Dalish education missed that part. Draconis was already taken. And just how many dragons do you think you can draw on the heavens, anyway?" He laughed good-naturedly before taking another swallow of the full-bodied wine they'd brought on their little escape. The two men were tucked into a small pocket of cliff in the middle of the Forbidden Oasis, huddled together on Dorian's bedroll, sharing rations and wine under the stars. Neither man was surprised they'd managed to find something to argue about.

                "Please, as if Tevinter has drawn anything original on the sky." R'ae gave a derisive laugh of his own. "And that Dalish education taught me exactly why the constellation looks like an owl. It represents Falon'Din, the shepherd of the dead."

                Dorian gave a small grimace. "Cheery."

                "What's wrong with that? I imagine there was something comforting in the idea that an all-powerful figure would take your hand and guide you into the beyond. In the days before the fall of Arlathan, it's said he walked with those who slept the long sleep, giving them knowledge that they would bring back to the People upon waking." R'ae took the bottle from Dorian and chased down a rising bitterness.

                "You say would."

                "I do. If the rumours are true, they were all tricked into fucking off and leaving us here to rot our little fleshy mortal lives away." Dorian quirked an eyebrow.

                "Why my dear Inquisitor, I didn't take you for a religious man."

                "I'm not."

                "Then I daresay you're awfully bitter for someone who doesn't buy the story."

                "Well it's just rife with excuses and hypocrisy!" R'ae blurted. "I don't know how much you know about elven gods -- " Dorian shook his head " -- but they've got one for everything you could want, and people still pray to them in spite of the fact that they've all supposedly been sealed away beyond the reach of the world. They pray to every god _except_ the one they have left, and when the world treats us like shit, it's because the gods aren't around to hear us or make things right." He shook his head as he took another drink. "Although I suppose it makes more sense than praying to the Maker."

                "Is that so." Dorian nicked the bottle from the elf, eyes fixed intently on him.

                "At least when everything goes to shit, the elves have an excuse for why their gods don't help out. I have no idea how humans excuse the Maker's apathy." Dorian gave an understanding smile, and left a quick, chaste kiss on Lavellan's cheek before taking a drink. _Jerk!_ It was hard to be surly when he was this damned cute. R'ae scooted closer and wrapped his right arm around Dorian's waist, dropping kisses of his own across the man's bare shoulder.

                "Would it surprise you to learn that I _do_ know?"

                "Not at all. I might surprise me if I agree with you, though." Dorian chuckled knowingly at that, letting his left hand play with the inside of Lavellan's leg.

                "So stubborn. Your head might just be harder than our resident Qunari's, and he could headbutt a horse." He chuckled lightly before continuing. "You see, The Old Gods, the Creators, the Maker, they're more than just a collection of logical facts that generate logical conclusions. Their stories are coloured by the people that pass them down, but they are maintained by the needs of mortal hearts. Take your Falon'Din, for example. Whether or not he is exactly as your stories say is irrelevant to the people who pray to him. They aren't praying to a collection of facts so much as they are asking not to be left alone at one of their most vulnerable moments.

                "We can't ever have the whole truth about it all -- life, the universe, and everything. Different people need it in different measure, but at some point or another our knowledge -- and the world as we know it -- will fail us, and all we have left is hope. Religious figures are the embodiment of that hope, the desire for something greater than ourselves to control things which are so far out of our grasp that they terrify us. Even the Qunari draw strength this way; they may not have gods, but they are completely reliant on the Qun for the same reasons."

                Dorian's words hung in the air for a minute as R'ae mulled them over. "Seems sad," he finally decided. "You're probably right, but what does that say about us as people? If there is so little strength to be found within ourselves or in the world we've built -- " _Shut up, Lavellan_! " -- I mean, you believe in the Maker, right?"

                "You know I do." There was a grin on Dorian's face; his expression was waiting, daring the elf to keep going.

                "Don't you ever feel like it takes something from you, like it requires you to be less than you are? You're one of the strongest people I know. I don't get it." Dorian slung an arm around R'ae shoulders, kissing his temple before letting their heads rest together.

                "I don't need you to, amatus. It's not about you. I feel stronger for my faith, not lesser, but it's not something easily explained."

                "Maybe not, but if it's important to you then I can't help but want to know."

                "You get so sentimental sometimes. You really want to know what's important to me right now?" Dorian began to kick off his leather travelling boots. "What's important is my desire to have even ONE SINGLE PART OF ME that is not covered in sand!" His hands ran up his pant legs and across the neck of his robes in vain. Lavellan began to laugh uproariously.

                "Hey, I can help with that." He tackled the human unceremoniously, bringing them both to the ground and earning him an indignant squeak. "I can check you over, you know. See if I can't find maybe even a _single_ part..."

                "Get off of me, you incorrigible lech!" The commanding tone was lost under laughter and undermined by a couple insincere shoves. "I will not have you get me any more filthy that this forsaken wasteland already has. I don't know why I agree to accompany you anywhere!" R'ae was laughing fiendishly, hands finding skin under cloth, nose and lips and teeth working up Dorian's neck and jaw. He took one earlobe with his tongue and teeth, breathing a soft moan for effect.

                It worked. Chuckles turned to warm, slow laughter as his lover's back arched under him. "Such an unconscionable abuse of power. You should be ashamed."

                " _Mmhmm_. Well you feel free to shame me in any way you see fit." Dorian rolled to sitting and leaned back, letting the elf draw his tongue down and across his jaw until their lips met. R'ae caught his own weight on both arms as he stretched his body against the man under him. He took Dorian's mouth in a long, slow kiss, letting his tongue stretch in and along the length of his lover's, rocking his hips ever so slightly. A human hand found its way up under his clothing.

                "You know, if you're so dirty, there's a truly divine little place I know of just down the hill..." Lavellan whispered. Dorian's laughter echoed through the canyon.

                "You cannot mean to bathe in the oasis. Surely even you are not so daft as to expose yourself when you've no idea what manner of beast lives in that water. And even if you are, I -- _ohh_ \--" R'ae's hand found the growing bulge in his pants " -- even if you are, _I_ am not. I have no intention of getting bitten tonight." A small smile played on the elf's lips as he kissed along Dorian's neck.

                "Well that's kind of unfortunate, because I have _every_ intention of biting you." He let his teeth dig in to the tender flesh, drawing small sounds from underneath him. He worked his way down to the rounded trapezius muscle joining his neck and shoulder, and rolled his hips up as he bit down hard. Dorian bucked a little, digging fingers into soft, pliant flesh, burying a gasp of pleasure in silver hair.

                "You _really_ don't care about getting covered in sand."

                "I'm telling you, the oasis is perfect. The camp will be asleep by now, and it's warm as fresh bath water." He sat back on his knees, pulling off the light tunic he wore and leaving it with his travelling coats on the ground. Dorian couldn't help but take in the sight -- the slender neck feeding down into strong shoulders and a flat chest; small, round nipples; tight, sinewy muscles dancing under pale, supple flesh. He wondered absently if all elves had such little hair -- Lavellan had little more than a pale, soft covering of down over most of his torso, thickening only somewhat as it trailed south. He lifted his fingers to trace that trail as he watched the elf undo his braid and shake out his hair, letting it fall free around his face.

                "Maker, but you do know how to tempt a man."

                "Consider me a quick study." He met no resistance as he reached forward to undo the clasps of Dorian's robes, sliding the cloth and leather down slowly, fingers trailing sensuously across bare skin. The goosebumps that rose in their wake had nothing to do with the heat that still enveloped them. Dorian finally let his own fingers leave Lavellan's flesh as his clothing was slid off of him and left in a heap with the rest.

                "Now _I_ \-- " R'ae leaned his head down, planting a kiss at the top of Dorian's chest " -- am going -- " Another kiss, working lower " -- to let that hot water -- clean this forsaken sand -- off every last part of me. -- I won't _make_ you join me -- but you are more than welcome." His mouth had found its way to Dorian's fine (and fastidiously maintained) black trail, and fixing his eyes on the other man's, he slid his tongue just under the lip of his pants and slowly let it travel the line back up to his navel. "And you are heartily encouraged to do so."

                Dorian whispered something short and foreign to R'ae's ears, golden eyes dark with lust. The elf gave him a smug grin and rose to his feet. Turning to walk away, he called back to him over his shoulder: "I know, I know. The things you do for me."

************************************************************

                Lavellan was pleased to find the water was every bit as warm as he'd been expecting. The hot western sun warmed the water and rocks through the day, and the cooler night air just made it feel all the better. He'd shucked his pants and wandered in without hesitation. Forget sex -- this felt damn good on his sun-baked skin. He wandered toward its depths, getting just over waist-deep before diving in. Hair billowed out around him and he let it shake out under the water, sand and dirt coming loose in the small cloud.

                Dorian was watching from the bank when he came back up, arms crossed in front of his naked chest, an appreciative grin pulling up one side of his mouth. "Let's have that again, shall we? The judges missed your entry." R'ae flipped a rude gesture at him with a teasing grin.

                "Get in here and make me."

                Dorian shook his head with a small laugh. "Of all the nerve." His hands moved slowly to the lace of his breeches. He moved with the slow grace of a man who knew just how well he was made, who knew exactly the type of reaction he elicited in the person watching him, pulling one string at a time until they were completely undone. He pulled them out but not down, letting the swell of himself move visibly under the thin fabric. He'd put his boots back on for the walk there, but they were coming off now. Each foot slipped out with natural grace, one at a time, and with a small nudge they fell away. Turning aside, his hands slid inside the back of his pants and down his ass, bringing them down slowly as he bent a bit at the waist, looking away from the elf with feigned ignorance of the effect he was having. He slowly slipped one leg out, then the next, flexing and stretching them as he did so, and finally tossed his pants over Lavellan's. Standing straight again, he let his eyes flick over as he let his smallclothes fall last and turned again to face the pool.

                R'ae was hard as a rock by the time he was done his little show. Every movement was measured, calculated. His ass was perfect, his long legs well-muscled from all their travels, and he'd shown them off to great effect. That caramel skin was delicious under his lips and yielding in his hands... come to think of it, Dorian's entire body was a potent aphrodisiac (and gods, was he thinking about it). His exquisitely talented mouth wore a small, self-satisfied grin as he wandered unhurriedly into the oasis waters.

                "I must confess, this feels so good as to be sinful." The lilting words snapped the elf out of his reverie. The human had slid into the water and was taking long, languid backstrokes, moon glimmering off his wet skin. "Perhaps that's why it's considered Forbidden. The ancients didn't want a parade of tourists sullying it."

                "They'll be awfully disappointed you found it, then."

                "You wound me, amatus." Dorian found footing and stopped, leaving his hair underwater. He ran long, deft fingers through it, pulling at the filth it had managed to accumulate over the past couple days. It was slicked flat back to his head when he finally stood and looked around, water running enticingly down his body. A knowing grin split his features as he took in the rapt, uncompromised lust on Lavellan's face. "A quick study you may be, but you are still an amateur to some."

                "Allow me then to beg forgiveness at your feet, _vhenan_ ," he rumbled, closing the distance between them. "How hasty I have been." His hands and mouth were hungry as they fell on Dorian's slick flesh, his force and intensity pushing the man over. He grabbed his ass under the water and held the taut human body against his own, ripples moving out from them as they moved against each other. Dorian let a rough chuckle escape as he pulled R'ae's head back, fingers tangled in his wet hair.

                "Your patience is a travesty," he laughed. "I thought it was supposed to improve with age."

                "Are you calling me old??" Lavellan let go suddenly, but Dorian's legs were wrapped around his waist and he went nowhere, laughing all the harder. _Little bastard! I'll fix you._ Bracing his feet in the rocky pool, he wrapped an arm around Dorian's back and began marching toward the shore.

                "If you think _these legs_ \-- " he rocked against the elf for emphasis " -- can't hang on, well... you really should know better by now." Lips found skin again, hot breath bringing a cool tickle through the wet. One hand dug into a pale shoulder while the other wandered low, tracing the telling lines of R'ae's pelvis before tightening on his ass. The elf stumbled. Unable to secure his footing in the water, they both went down with a resounding splash.

                " _Shhh_! The camp patrols will hear us!" laughed Dorian. Lavellan backhanded the surface of the water at him in reply.

                "And whose fault is that!" He pulled the human close again, trying to quiet his own amusement. The night fell quiet around them as they listened; no footsteps, no voices. A minute lasted this way, wrapped in each other's arms under the stars -- listening, kissing, waiting -- before R'ae finally spoke again. "You're a lucky little shit."

                "Not as lucky as you're about to be." His hand found Lavellan's cock, pulling it to its full hard length within a few strokes. The elf returned the motion with a stifled moan, his other hand on Dorian's chest. Their faces leaned into each other but the kisses were distracted, faces nuzzling into each other, lips finding what skin they could. _So right_. Dorian slowed and released the elf briefly, hands moving to his wrists. He gestured to the rocky jut of shore behind them. R'ae followed him without hesitation.

                He let the human lower him to the ground first, a small nook hiding them from most angles. Dorian knelt above him, hands working their way down, kissing along his abdomen as he began again with twisting, purposeful strokes. "Keep quiet now, amatus. We don't want anyone to come running." Piercing golden eyes watched as Lavellan nodded in silent assent, lips open, waiting.

                Dorian worked him slowly at first. He drew his tongue up the length of him as he stroked, teasing the darkening head, playing with his sensitive ridge. He let his hand continue as he moved his mouth back down, licking now at the soft sac and drawing one side into the warm wetness of his mouth. R'ae bit back a groan above him. _Tease,_ he muttered inwardly. The muscles of his back tensed as Dorian worked him with lips and tongue, massaging first one testicle and then the other, bringing up a low, steady burn. The smallest tug, the lightest pressure brought a fluttering to his gut.

                Satisfied with the path he was tracing, Dorian released the delicate organs. He released his busy hand to better slide R'ae's legs up and forward, anchoring feet on his shoulders. The curl was familiar and brought anticipation with it, but... Dorian kissed the small patch of skin just behind his sack, and the elf's eyes shot open. They flashed down to the man below him to meet a careful gaze as the human kissed the closest parts of his thighs.

                "What -- ?"

                "Relax, amatus."

                "You mean to..."

                "I mean to bring you pleasure, to make you squirm, and to own your release entirely." One hand stretched out to lay on his lower abdomen, quieting him. R'ae let out a long breath.

                "I trust you." A couple beats fell between them, heavy thoughts unspoken in the air before Dorian finally smiled. He said nothing as he turned his attentions back to the body before him. He began to apply pressure with his thumbs to the seam of flesh where thighs met, kissing and licking and teasing as he went, letting his shoulders roll against Lavellan's feet to bring his legs up just a little. With a glance up, he let his tongue flick out and slide lightly across the tight little ring before him. R'ae drew a sharp breath at the new sensation, his apprehension melting in curiosity.

                Dorian did not waste the opportunity. He began to trace swirls on the elf's entrance, varying the pressure as he went. His thumbs slid down, working the edges as his tongue pressed just barely in, stroking and pushing and teasing. The elf's feet pressed against him as his hips rocked involuntarily. It was all he could do to keep quiet as Dorian worked him over, pressing deeper, kneading his fingers into the tender skin as he went. The night dissolved in waves of pleasure as his eyes rolled shut.

                R'ae gritted his teeth as the human's mouth finally withdrew, only to buck as a finger plunged into him. "Dorian!" He clapped a hand over his mouth as his lover stroked him inside, easily finding the tight bundle of nerves that drove him wild. One hand held his hips down as a second finger slid in, slowly, joining the first as they circled and curled within him. _More, faster... right there!_

                "You give in to me so completely." Lavellan blinked back into the present, breath ragged, grey eyes needing and wanting and _oh Creators, don't stop!_ "Maker, I really can't resist you like this." His tongue slid down to flick at the tip of R'ae's throbbing cock. "I am going to devour you, little elf. I am going to have your screams echoing off this canyon as you come for me."

                "I thought you told me to be qu -- _!!_ " He strangled off a yelp in his throat, moans and whimpers trying to escape as Dorian worked his cock deep into his mouth. His back was going to seize the way the sensation kept rushing through him, his shoulders catching more of his weight as he tried to focus on keeping silent. His hips were rocking furiously, impaling himself in one stroke and fucking Dorian's tight mouth with the next. Well, as well as he was able to, anyway. The other man was deft and controlled, in one move letting him slide all the way in and in the next holding him back, suckling and toying with his head, pulling against his ridge before taking him in again. It was only when R'ae could no longer hold his tongue, when he had to muffle his cries in his forearm that Dorian finally began to work him with ferocity. He slipped a third finger in, keeping up his pace, and took Lavellan fast and deep.

                "Gods yes, oh Creators have mercy, Dorian!" He could feel the pressure of the other man's hand at his base as wordless sounds of release tore from his lips. His back arched off the ground as he came, weight rolling back on his shoulders. The human slowed his pace then, easing each digit out carefully, teasing up the elf's length with slow, purposeful strokes of his tongue, letting him ride the sensation.

                His low chuckle was not the sound Lavellan expected to hear next. He opened his eyes to see those dark lashes, hair falling loose as it had begun to dry. Fluttering kisses landed on his hips as he regained his breath. _Wait a minute here_. One finger trailed up his length, hard shaft to waiting tip.

                " _What_? How... Did you do this?" He could feel the warm ache of his orgasm subsiding, but still the organ stood, waiting. "Did I not just..."

                "Yes and no."

                "It's kind of an either-or."

                "Clearly not." The damn thing still wanted, still clouded his vision. The sultry eyes making their way up his body were still driving him mad. "To answer what I suspect you're asking, no, you didn't." He kissed Lavellan then, and sure enough there was no taste of his fluid on Dorian's tongue.

                "You did that." It was half-question and half-statement, amazement sneaking in for good measure.

                "I wasn't done with you yet." He'd reached a hand down to grasp himself, already hard from his own enjoyment of the act. "Although I understand if you're a bit... reluctant." R'ae smiled up at him, pressing his lips to Dorian's, reaching down over his lover's hand to match his strokes.

                "Roll over. Let me start." The human was completely acquiescent. He put one hand behind his head as he lay on his back, letting the other travel over the elf as they repositioned. The only thing he didn't like about Dorian sucking his cock (it was definitely a single-entry list) was that it usually limited the amount of his body R'ae could touch. He loved the skin, the play of his tight muscles underneath, the heat that radiated off him. He could come until he lost all sense and memory, but it would never beat the feeling of Dorian's body against his own. He took this chance to kiss and fondle his way down his lover, fingers tracing the lines of his body as if to memorize every one, only finally letting his tongue slide slowly up and down his length.

                He had to admit, the human's cock was a pretty fine specimen in its own right. It was as perfectly proportioned as its owner, the tip curving up just slightly. R'ae wasn't yet able to take the whole thing in his mouth for very long, but he knew how Dorian liked to have it teased. His tongue danced as he took it deeper and deeper each time, letting himself moan at the back of his throat as he worked. One hand chased the path his mouth left as he pulled out, while the other began to knead almost involuntarily at the top of his thigh. His own cock jerked as he looked up to see Dorian watching him, mouth open, lust writ large on his features.

                He left a generous amount of saliva at the head as he pulled himself off and sat up to straddle the other man. He took a deep breath as R'ae positioned himself, holding his cock still for him. It wouldn't be as slick usual without the oil, but Dorian had certainly endeavoured to ready him, and he wanted this _so_ badly. Relaxing as best he could, ass spread, he lowered himself onto the man's waiting tip. The stretch made his breath hitch as he descended, shallow thrusts growing deeper, avoiding his favourite spot until he was truly ready and able to take him entirely.

                His eyes opened (when had they closed?) to see Dorian grappling with his self-control. His face was flushed and his breathing heavy, but still he managed to check his hips and remain still. Hands that should have been caressing him were braced on rocks, fingers pinched and white. _Mental note: see how far that restraint can be pushed later_. R'ae began to pick up his pace, drawing up slowly and down hard, letting the rhythm force his breath from his chest. He leaned back slightly, changing the angle just enough, and was rewarded with a shot of heat through his centre as he took the other man right to the hilt.

                Strong hands found his hips then as Dorian let himself go. He rocked and thrust under the elf, plunging himself in with vigour, need, desire. Lavellan braced himself, meeting Dorian's strokes, controlling the angle and his pleasure as one. His skin began to prickle as he gave himself over completely to the sensation, and from sounds his lover had begun to make, he could feel it too.

                The human propped himself up on his arms, his expression completely unguarded. "Please, amatus..." His own flesh had begun to race with prickles of magic. R'ae slowed, fixing him in the eye.

                "You mean..." Dorian nodded. "You're sure?"

                "Wholly and unrepentantly. I want every part of you."

                He pulled Dorian up against him, letting him hold them together as he gently began to roll back. They went together, slowly, and Lavellan could feel the tickle of water on his scalp as he slid down into the sand. Pulling in a deep breath, he opened himself to the press of the Veil. He let it tease over his skin as he exhaled, let it find purchase in his deepest roots, and as the magic woke within him it found itself echoed in Dorian above. The whole world around them was alive and savage and brilliant and it rushed at them as it was wont to do when acknowledged, screaming to be known.

                The kiss was what bridged the gap, and R'ae let Dorian make the move. Like closing a circuit, the magic rushed through them where they were joined, setting every nerve on fire, heightening every sense. It sought familiar pathways, and even when they pulled apart breathlessly it continued to race. The younger man began to thrust again, rolling himself in and up, shuddering with the sensation at every turn. The elf under him dug his fingers into taut muscle, light flaring in his vision as his head flew back. He heard a stream of words he didn't understand and they were music to his ears, a part of his lover he rarely heard, calling out his passion into the night.

                They came together, as they had the last time they had joined this way. It didn't occur to Lavellan that it could have been otherwise, that the magic pushed but it didn't decide. The fierce burst inside threatened to tear them apart screaming, pushing into every corner, every fingertip, blurring the lines between them, but still they held on. They were left gasping and entwined as the pleasure slowly subsided, covered in sweat and sand and seed. It felt like one of them was crying, but both faces were dry; impossible to know where one ended and the other began. R'ae's fingers reached up and found Dorian's face. Dorian nodded his assent. He pulled himself out slowly and, with only slight hesitation, let Lavellan place a tender kiss on his lips, breaking the link.

                They curled into each other, heedless of the grit rubbing into their damp skin. Hands traced slowly across spent bodies. Kisses fell, soft and relaxed. R'ae couldn't keep it to himself any longer; not now, not like this.

                " _Ma'arlath, ma vhenan_ ," he whispered, voice lazy and content.

                "Hmm?" Dorian nuzzled into his neck questioningly.

                "It... it means thank you." The man next to him chuckled.

                "I am nothing if not selfless, it's true."

                They lay together another couple minutes, whispering to each other under the starlight before finally succumbing to the need for sleep, and the far more onerous task of gathering their things and heading back to camp first. It was a simple affair to wash themselves off (again), letting a slow-burning heat dry their skin.

                It was less easy to find where their pants had wandered off to.

                " _SERA!!_ "

                Mad giggles cut through the night.


	5. Clan Lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some decisions can't be unmade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Bioware are jerks, that's why. My poor heart.

                Lavellan brought food along with him to the war room, bread stuffed with cheese and meats, munching as he walked. The message-boy had said to come at his leisure when he was done his dinner, but no one ever called him this late to anything so official and he couldn't bear the wait. War room meetings were always held before lunch, strings of reports and hours of decision-making every couple days to make sure their efforts never veered too far apart. Anything urgent usually resulted in a private meeting (and was almost invariably with Leliana, who was terrifyingly well-informed). R'ae couldn't help his worry as he hurried into the Great Hall. What couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?

                Josephine looked up from her desk as he walked past, giving her a short wave. "Good evening, Inquisitor." Her shoes tapped quick on the stone as she hurried to follow him. "You did not need to come right away. We did not mean to rush you."

                "Consider me unrushed," he replied with half a smile.

                He threw open the doors to the war room to find Cullen sitting behind the great tree, head in his hands. No one wore pain as beautifully as the commander did, fingers in knotted in his thick golden hair, shoulders sagging under the weight of his armour. Leliana sat on the edge of the table facing away from him, inscrutable eyes watching the sky. She turned to the door as he entered, hearing it groan shut under Josie's small hands.

                "Inquisitor." The spymaster reached down to a few sheaves of paper next to her. "There are a few things that have come back. Do you wish to review the lesser of them first?" Cullen hadn't looked at him yet, and Josephine was taking her time moving to her place behind the table, but Leliana hid nothing from him. Whatever this news was, it was bad.

                "Honestly? ... No, not really. I wore my big-boy britches today." The elf couldn't help his sarcasm. It was almost a primary language for him. "Whatever it is, bring it on. Corypheus' old friends manage to look him up?" There was no smile on Leliana's face as she handed him the topmost report.

                For the first few seconds, R'ae felt nothing at all. He read the report top to bottom in silence. In confusion he read it again, trying to figure out what he'd missed. Why wasn't it making sense? _... fell upon Clan Lavellan..._ But where had they retreated to? Were there prisoners? _... the Dalish clan was entirely destroyed._ How many soldiers had been lost? How many Dalish wounded were there? Who was this lieutenant, anyhow?

                _No._ Silence lay thick in the room.

                "Our soldiers..."

                "Inquisitor... I am so sorry." Cullen finally looked up, voice small. "We sent a strong contingent, but the red lyrium had already driven many of them mad." R'ae lowered the report to the table. He picked it up again, dropped it, toyed with the corner, lowered his hand to his side. "I had no idea how far they'd fallen. I am so sorry for my failure. I cannot tell you -- "

                "I told you, I didn't want my people to enter the city. I didn't want them anywhere near this." His voice was low, quiet. "I refused to leave it to my clan to take up arms when they'd reached out to me for help. Why were they in the city?"

                "They weren't." Leliana's voice echoed the small voice in his own head. "We did as you asked. We told them to keep to the forest and stay away from Wycome's people. Inquisition troops were all we sent." The elf's jaw tightened.

                "And you think I should have done otherwise? I should have made them fight?" The storm building in him screamed for somewhere to direct itself, his grey eyes fixing on the spymaster.

                "No, sir." Her eyes looked back into his, unyielding and calm. "I think red lyrium is -- "

                "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK!" Josephine crossed her arms in front of her, as if to shield herself from his anger. Cullen watched the floor. Leliana just sat, a sad look crossing her features as she watched Lavellan's face twist under the strain of self-control. He took a few deep breaths, trying in futility to calm himself. His left hand reached out to gesture shakily at the reports still sitting unattended on the table.

                "Deal with those as you see fit. As for this..." He picked up the page in front of him. The evidence. _I regret to inform you that the Dalish clan was entirely destroyed_. Flames exploded from his fingers, engulfing the parchment. He dropped it wordlessly, watching the fire curl the edges and lick the words clean from the world before turning on heel and storming out.

******************************************************************

                For all its size, Skyhold felt stifling. Lavellan had no interest in returning to dinner now. He had no idea where the hell he meant to go. Heads turned as he left the hall, only to turn on heel and come back through on his way to the new garden. It was the only green space in the entire keep, but as he strode out into it his gut twisted in revulsion. It was a mockery of nature, just one more human comfort, one more part of nature they meant to control. To own. Mother Giselle looked up from a nearby bench as he stood stock-still and staring. _Of course she would be here_.

                "Is something the matter, you Worship?" came the quiet question. She wandered over slowly to stand within easy speaking distance.

                "I... I was just wondering how the new seedlings were coming along. Have any of them successfully germinated yet?" She shook her head and looked away.

                "You are most skilled with these things, sire. They are coming along as well as we could hope."

                "Good." He turned and stalked out without another word. _Fucking nosy._ Blood was boiling in his veins as he pushed his way past people, waving oncomers away without a look. R'ae didn't want to see a single one of them, useless gods-loved shemlen waste begging for his attention and favour like they had nothing. Like they were owed it. _Shemlen._ The word rose unwelcome to his mind, feeding his anger. Thought he'd gotten rid of that one, a word used only in hate. _Entirely destroyed_. He never wanted to read another report again. His own breath threatened to choke him. He needed to get out of here.

                Dennett greeted him kindly enough as he arrived at the stables. "What can I do for you, Inquisitor?"     

                "Nothing." R'ae dismissed him without a look, entering the pen where his hart was idly munching away. He'd been slowly working to train her out of this foolish gear that humans insisted on using, biting metal and thick straps meant to force compliance instead of fostering partnership, and she was beginning to look forward to his visits. He felt a small twinge of guilt as he stroked her neck. "Sorry, no treat bag today." She huffed into him, and her warm breath almost pushed him to tears. She was no halla, but she was still smart and affectionate, and she made him wish desperately for home. He'd named her Anaríel, after the elder of his two sisters. Anaríel, long dead, cut down by human hands.

                He pulled her simple head harness off the rack that hung outside the stall and slid it on. She followed him to a block and made no protest as he mounted. Dennett watched wordlessly as the elf spurred the hart into action and made for the gate.

                "Open up, by order of the Inquisitor!" His frame was slight but his voice carried weight, shaking the uncertain guards. No one was to leave alone, not while there were so many enemies at the metaphorical gates. He and Cullen both had signed copies of the writ that hung next to every crank for the portcullis, after all. The gate watch looked at each other with fear. _Useless fucking rabble, now they choose to disregard what authority they claim I have --_ "Open the damned door!" -- _I need to get out of here, I will not be penned in any longer!_ R'ae's chest was heaving, though not from exertion. His hart began to prance nervously under him as he tensed. _  
_

                "By your own order, we must wait for the rest of your party, my lord," came the uncertain reply.

                "By my own order, you will open this damned gate!" He was yelling again, though not by intention. He felt like he was crawling out of his own flesh. Every nerve was on fire, his whole body beginning to shake. His voice was just trying to break free with the rest of him. He guided his mount in a wide circle, trying to catch his breath, trying to be calm. "I am in no danger. I am not going far. I admire your dedication and prudence, but as this is my keep and my door, and as you are in my service, I am telling you to obey me now. _You. Will. Open. This. Gate_."

                "You will do no such thing!" Cullen's voice carried down over the courtyard. R'ae looked up to see tragedy and pain writ large over his striking features, but still he met the Inquisitor's eyes with strength and defiance. _Great. Someone found the Commander._ "The rules are in place for good reason. We can assemble a guard for you if -- "

                "If I wanted a guard, I would have assembled one myself." He was starting to attract attention, eyes crowding him, suffocating. He wheeled the hart around and led her back to the stables. He left the reins with Dennett as he fled up a nearby staircase and back into an underhall. His heart was racing, the last Lavellan heart beating furiously against a sick human world.

                And there were humans _everywhere._ Every hall, every chamber, every nook and cranny was full of their stink. With nowhere else to go, he took the stairs two at a time into the Great Hall and made for his chambers. He was trapped.

                It was such a clever design. He wished he'd seen it closing in. Shemlen making his food, laundering his clothes for him, treating him like one of their own. In his hubris he had let them, fallen for this ridiculous veneer of acceptance and supplication. _A Dalish messiah_. What a fool he had been not to see it! He was a prisoner as surely as if they'd kept him in irons. They needed him for the mark on his hand, the magic that a once-human magister had burned into him by accident, and so they had courted him. They'd used him to build a shem army, and now they had it. He was trapped in a human stronghold under human guard, bent to the will of the horde around him.

                _I even took a human lover_. He'd been pacing in his bedchamber, but at this thought he stopped. It was another blade through the heart to think of Dorian as part of this. He'd let himself be happy under the passionate but gentle ministrations of a shemlen, a mage from Tevinter no less. Could he have betrayed his people any more completely? _Can't take it back._ The Veil began to waver around him, pulling tight against his skin. The mark on his hand was burning now, hurting in a way it hadn't since he'd first learned to control it. Tears threatened behind bitter eyes. After all, he knew the truth, didn't he? _This is my fault. This is what I have wrought, what I have become_. The ties that bound him as a mage to the Fade were howling to life, power flowing through him like the conduit he was. A bestial roar rose in his throat, and he couldn't hold it in any longer. Stone cracked and wood splintered as he began to scream.

***********************************************************  

                The Iron Bull had followed an agitated Cole out of the tavern. Nothing should go on inside Skyhold's walls that could have him so upset, but damned if Bull could figure out what he was on about. "Tied, tethered, trapped, gods I'm trapped, what have I done?" The spirit wouldn't answer him, wouldn't even acknowledge the large man keeping pace with him as he darted up the stairs into the main hall.

                "Take it back, take it back, _give them back!!_ " Cole was yelling now, panic rising in his voice. Solas was sitting in discussion with Varric, head bowed over pages in the hall. He rose to catch the boy by his shoulders. Murmurs were beginning around them.

                "Cole!" Solas shook the spirit gently, trying to refocus him. "Slow down, Cole. What is going on?" Bull hesitated. He and Solas didn't always agree, but they both knew the value of the kid's insight. Not that he was always great at delivering said insight with any clarity, but the elf did make a pretty decent interpreter.

                "Everyone, everything, my life, my love, all lost." The spirit was shaking in Solas' hands, trying to push past him. "All my fault, so many choices gone wrong. I take them back, I take them back. Please let me take them back." Bull had never seen the kid in so much distress before. Fat tears streamed down his cheeks now as struggled, forcing the elf to tighten his grip.

                "Cole!" A crack from above shook the stone walls, cutting him off.

                " _GIVE THEM BACK!_ "

                "Varric, help me!" The dwarf was at his side, pulling daggers safely out of reach. The hall had erupted into movement, bodies heading every which way. "No, into my study, let's go. Iron Bull -- " The Qunari had already started moving.

                "Way ahead of you." He reached the stairs up, taking them two at a time to the Inquisitor's quarters.

                Fire licked under the topmost door leaving fresh, black scorch marks. The stone around the hinges was cracked, leaving it slightly askew but still bolted. Bull planted one large boot at the lock and gave it a solid kick, but it wouldn't budge. He lined up for a second and saw the door shudder from inside with a loud crunch. The topmost hinge was beginning to give way.

                "Boss!" He repositioned, bracing against the railing for a strike at a weakened hinge. The only answer was an animalistic howl. He knew that sound, and it caused him to falter for a second before slamming all his force into the wall. Every bone in his leg shuddered as the door started to groan. He could hear strained, strangled noises escaping around it as it leaned out slightly. _Sorry, boss_. He directed another blow into the frame and felt it finally start to give.

                Three things happened then. The door pivoted against the inside bolt, heavy wood groaning as the iron lost its hold. Stone exploded into the flames that danced along the stairs inside, and as fast as Bull could process the sight, he registered the bolt that cracked down into him. It wasn't the first time he'd been hit by electricity, but he'd never gotten used to the way it made every muscle seize and his chest feel like lit gaatlok. The Qunari crumpled to the floor with a pained wheeze.

                _"Get. OUT."_ It was mangled and full of fury, but he still easily recognized Lavellan's voice. _Shit._ Either he was possessed or... something, but if the boss was on the offensive he would need more backup than the few soldiers that were finally coming up the stairs in his wake. He waved them off as he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet.

                "Someone find me the 'Vint. _NOW!_ " The sound of shattering glass punctuated his order, and they went scampering back down. The concentration of magic tickled along his skin, raising goosebumps over his arms. He could still hear Cole wailing in the back of his mind. _I take it back_. The Qunari drew a deep breath, letting the last few shakes work their way out of his muscles. He wasn't hurt, not really. It almost made it worse; a possessing demon would aim to kill, to cause agony and suffering. That he had been almost incapacitated instead, well...

                Dorian burst into view not ten seconds after Bull lost sight of the Inquisition soldiers, staff in hand. _Probably heard the commotion._ He was thankful suddenly for how much time the man spent among the stacks in the rotunda. Did he always read with his weapon around?

                "What in the name of the Maker has happened here?" Dorian himself felt like a small sun. It almost hurt Bull to be near him. Sometimes he forgot how alike they were; both men were the product of breeding meant to produce power, and it was carved into everything they were. "Where is the Inquisitor?"

                "That.... _IS_ the Inquisitor." Dorian's eyes burned as they searched his face, alive with fire and Fade. "At least, I'm pretty sure."

                "You're serious."

                "You're damned right I'm serious!" Bull hissed, trying to keep his voice down. He had no desire for another bolt to the gut. "He didn't much appreciate me coming to the rescue, either. And he broke the kid, but I don't know that he knows that part." _Give it back!_

                More prying eyes showed up at the top of the stairs, Leliana in the thick of them. Taking in the scene, she directed her men to take up posts at the lower door. "What is going on here?"

                "We're handling it," Bull growled darkly.

                "It certainly looks that way."

                "Enough." Dorian was at the door, looking through the crack around the frame. Small flames flickered merrily among the shattered stone, consuming a bundle of wood and fabric beneath them. Hard steps and loud bangs echoed inside, but he could see nothing from here. "Go."

                "I'm not just leaving you here!" The mage fixed his gaze on the larger man. Without a word he reached out and touched the door, coating it in ice to put out the fire before hauling it off its hinges and casting it aside like some child's toy. Bull recognized the gentle glimmer of a barrier form as Dorian looked away, up the now-exposed hall.

                "I said go." With a quick gesture of his staff, flame whipped down through the doorway at him. It surrounded his body in a hellish blaze, pulling off its fuel as it bent to the mage's will, dissipating entirely in a small pinch. Without looking back, he stormed up the staircase into the Inquisitor's bedchamber.

************************************************************

                The room was all but destroyed. The railing leading in was a pile of rubble on the steps. The modest reading couch was in splinters from where it had hit the door and the drapery was in tatters, and the whole damned mess had been on fire. He hadn't really meant to light it, but just keeping feet on this side of the Fade was taking enough concentration right now. Magic tore through him, coursing untempered and savage as R'aeseth Lavellan railed against the world.

                His desk and its ever-present reports had been flung into the wall next to the bed and crushed. The remnants now adorned the floor. Two of the four bedposts of his unreasonably expensive bed were snapped off, leaving the canopy draped across and down the mattress. Every last pane of glass had been blown outward, though that had been an accident; he'd discharged far too much when he lit into Bull, and the excess had blown from him in a sharp crescent until everything exploded in a burst of light and fragmented colour. Books were scattered everywhere, some smoldering slowly to their end.

                It was into this tempest that Dorian strode now, every ounce of noble Tevinter breeding and power sharp in each movement. R'ae held his arms out at his sides, hands at the ready, glowering at the interloper. Dorian did not falter, eyes locking on the savagery his Inquisitor returned him. He did not deign to notice the room, or his lover's state of undress.

                "By Maferath's useless balls, what do you think you're doing?" His voice rang challenging and unafraid against the ruined walls, expression pulled into a fierce, demanding snarl.

                The braid in R'ae's hair was undone, just as he was. He was struggling for breath, panting in the charged atmosphere of the increasingly small room. Green light surged halfway up his left forearm, the mark brighter than Dorian had ever seen it, weaving its way through his flesh like a collection of Fade-vines. He was also completely naked. His tight, lithe form was slick with sweat. Ruined fragments of clothing were scattered about, but it was impossible to know what he'd been wearing as opposed to what he'd torn from the drawers in his rage. "Get the hell out of here."

                Dorian laughed openly at him, a cold, humourless sound. "Yes, that'll happen. Come on, let's have another one. Order me to peel you a grape." Lightning flashed within inches of his face to crack on the wall behind him, but his eyes only narrowed.

                "I will not tell you again."

                "Good. Save us both the trouble." R'ae began to mutter, but Dorian was faster. With a sweep of his staff the smaller man was blown back against the wall, ice pinning his hands to stone.

                The elf's cry was guttural and sick. He coiled himself against the stone and kicked out, body exploding in a wreath of flame to land on the floor. The human could not hide his shock. His eyes locked on the sharp explosion of green light up the Inquisitor's forearm as it pulsed, brilliant and dangerous. _He's pulling on raw Fade! Without a staff for focus, he's literally burning the power of the spirit world through the Anchor_. Flames gone, R'ae stood. He glowered again from under silver strands of hair.

                "Good to finally know how you feel," he muttered. Dorian deflected the next spell, letting veins of ice explode up the wall. His lips curled as he watched the elf move slowly closer.

                "At least we're getting back into territory I understand. Not having to defend myself was becoming downright confusing." He was almost too slow dispelling the next attack, the lightning eating part of his barrier. _Shit._ "Are you flirting, or just trying to kill me?"

                "Fuck you." R'ae's next motions failed as he convulsed and staggered, knees cracking on stone as magic chewed through him. _His casting is erratic. It's too much_. "Get out."

                "Not a chance." He was so not good at sincerity. Dorian Pavus was witty and sarcastic, with a guard of solid steel and walls high enough to breach the sun. It went against everything in him to do it, but he broke the sneer and let concern slip heavy into his voice. _Maker, what I do for this man._ "Not a fucking chance."

                A couple heavy breaths and Lavellan was on his feet again, tight gestures bringing fire to life around the other man. It licked weakly at his boots before Dorian swatted it away.

                "Enough, amatus."

                Wrong words. Light exploded from the small frame before him, snapping off the walls, blowing loosely-mortared stones out into the waste below. "Don't you _enough_ me, fucking shem!" The words flew out fast as his power now, and Dorian could only renew his protection under the assault as the room splintered around them. "Don't think I don't know, because I do! I know why they won't let me out, but I am not some quivering youngling to be whipped in the dark!" R'ae's voice reverberated off the grinding stone, thick with magic and rage. "They think that by taking what makes me whole they will break me, but they will see who breaks first. They think if I have nowhere to run that I will stay." Hard as R'ae tried to fill the room, Dorian felt the power finally ebb around him; the elf cut it off with a show, but the human could feel the burnt price in the air. "Let them try and come for me, try to take me now. They have overplayed their hand."

                "They're not the only ones." Cole's screams reverberated in his mind; it had been impossible not to hear them as he'd made a run for the main hall. _Give them back!_ Dorian stood tall, untouched, unbowed, unwavering. He was mercifully glad for the staff in his hand. It took concerted effort to push the caustic tone out of his voice and replace it with calm, but after a few beats of silence he somehow managed. "Tell me who did this to you."

                R'ae ground his teeth and looked away. He'd spent himself completely, and his whole body was starting to shake. The frigid wind slicing through the room didn't help. He was a wreck, and a tired wreck at that. The adrenalin he'd been running on was starting to wane, and his unwelcome guest kept forcing his mind back into the world, back into the flow of time and the immutability of life.

                "I am no god. I wouldn't know Andraste from any other shemlen. I will not play their game anymore. I refuse to be some pawn to be used in their endless fighting." The marked hand spasmed, sending a rush of pain into him. Dorian risked a single step forward. R'ae winced at both. "Get out."

                "No."

                "Please." The elf's voice was quiet, almost pleading now as anger and command began to seep out. He was shivering from head to toe, and as he stood wrapped in nothing but his own arms, he seemed to Dorian to have gotten very small indeed.

                "I am not leaving you, amatus." He took another few steps forward. "Maker's breath, what has happened?" R'ae's eyes squeezed shut, his hands running into his hair, over his face. He gave only a shake of his head.

                "Please -- " He bit down hard on the words, throat tight. His eyes opened long enough to manoeuvre away, but somehow Dorian was there as he moved, staff forgotten, catching his shoulders and holding him still. His head tossed violently. _No. No no no no no._ _You cannot keep me here._ He pushed back weakly, unable to look into his lover's face, refusing to speak. Dorian kept moving, slow and patient. He wrapped one around the smaller man and then the next, kissing the side of his head, holding his body through increasingly violent tremors.

                "I'm not leaving you." R'ae chest began to heave. He shook his head and tried to pull away, but one look up into the other man's face broke the dam. A choked sob rushed in with his breath. He pushed again but Dorian held firm as he crumbled, a small keening noise building unbidden in his throat. Tears began to trace warm lines down his cheeks. He let himself be guided down onto the ruined bed as he broke, weeping unabashedly in his human's arms, sobs wracking his fragile frame.

                _Everyone gone, just like that. My Keeper, my teachers. Old rivalries. Childhood friends. Childhood enemies. Crushes and fights and family, my family, the only people in all creation I could run to who would never judge me, never turn me away._

                "I failed. Gods, I failed so completely. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."


	6. Clan Lavellan, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you stand when your legs have been cut away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on the heels of chapter 5. Sadpanda.

                Lavellan quieted before long, curled up and shivering, leftover tears starting to slow. Veins of green had begun to thin and retract. One arm still holding R'ae against him, Dorian reached over and tugged at the thick, ruined canopy. It pulled away from its last hook easily, and he wrapped it in around the small elf's shoulders.

                "Told you, should have gone with velvet," he whispered softly. There was only one bit of clothing left that Dorian could see -- he was willing to bet it was the only stuff left intact -- but he didn't dare touch it. It sat in a pile in the middle of the bed looking painfully out of place, leather old and well-worn. He didn't know much about the Dalish, but he was willing to bet the strange dyes and craftsmanship were of their design. He wondered idly if it was what Lavellan had been wearing when he'd been torn out of the Fade. Didn't matter, really. He tucked the edges of the long fabric around the elf, feeling compliance in small responsive movements.

                "Come on. Let's go." R'ae hesitated only briefly before giving a small nod of assent. His eyes were dim and downcast as he let himself be drawn up and more fully covered. Dorian wrapped an arm around his shoulders and a hand around his staff, and Lavellan made no move to stop them as the human cleared a path down the stairs.

                Bull didn't need to be told a word. He disappeared through the nearest door and down the steps the minute he saw the two men emerge. Dorian paused, giving him time, whispering words that brought warmth into the fabric of the canopy. R'ae made no sound, no motion of acknowledgement; the only evidence he felt anything was the gradual abatement of his tremors. He waited, distant and lost, until Dorian began to pull him forward again.

                The stairs were empty. The Great Hall was quiet. Dorian wound them down more steps and through corridors until he reached his own room, Thedas' Inquisitor completely compliant under his hands. It was only once they were in and the fire was lit that he tilted his head and looked around.

                "I'm sorry." R'ae's voice was low and hoarse. "I shouldn't have called you that." _Fucking shem._

                "Yes, well, if I thought you meant it I wouldn't have brought you." Dorian rifled through his garment racks until he found a warm chamber robe. It was the softest he had, sea silk lined in fennec fur.

                "I shouldn't have said it at all." He was looking at the floor when Dorian turned to him. Gently, the human guided the ruined canopy from his shoulders, replacing it with the shamelessly indulgent (and blissfully warm) robe. For the first time in a long time, he found himself at a loss for words.

                R'ae's hands covered his, stopping him as he moved to tie the sash at his waist. He had no time to question as the elf's mouth found his, hesitation crushed under roughness and need. Dorian's wordless sounds made no difference to him; his tongue drove its way in, arms holding him near as he pushed the man toward the bed.

                Dorian pushed back long enough to break away and catch his breath. "Really though -- _ahh_ \-- " Teeth found the tender flesh of his neck, biting just hard enough, just the way he liked. "R'ae!" The elf's mouth found his again, growling at the use of his name. He tore at the buckles that held the mage's clothes intact, hard enough that Dorian found himself helping just to spare the outfit. He stumbled slightly as his calves hit the bed, and R'ae gave him a hard shove back. Dorian was half naked and sprawled now, weight on his elbows, staring up the open robe into the other man's face.

                He knew the look on that face, the poorly-concealed desperation in those eyes. He'd been there. It was the need to forget, to lose oneself in flesh and bestial urges, to be reduced to the animal you knew you really were. He let R'ae tear his pants off, feeling them pull painfully against his traitorous dick. No, not traitorous. It knew what the elf was trying to take, trying to use him for. Well... he'd already been cried on tonight. This would be a hell of a lot easier than listening to those broken sounds.

                The elf had become clumsy in his fervor, and Dorian used it. He pitched the weight as it descended on him, rolling it to the side, throwing himself on top. One leg pushed up a bit harder than was entirely necessary, drawing a cry from the man beneath him, forcing him to scramble further onto the bed. A strong hand gripped Dorian's cock, and he stopped. His back arched as R'ae drew hard and fast against him -- _too much, too much!_ \-- and heard loud, shuddering gasps escape his lips. Oh, he was _not_ going to get this on his good robe!

                A strangled noise escaped the elf as a hand tightened fast against his neck. "You. Naked. Now." Dorian growled his command, and R'ae scrambled. He twisted out of the fabric as fast as he could comply, eyes rolling back with a pinched whimper, fabric pitched carelessly to the ground. Dorian was on his knees over him in those few seconds, one hand going roughly to the elf's delicate balls, the other not loosening its grip. His thumb ground into the soft flesh between the balls and his cleft as R'ae's hands clamped around the forearm that held his neck. The expression on his face was fierce and black.

                " _This_ is what you want?" Whispers of breath, a short nod of the head, legs straining out. Dorian grabbed his sack then, pulling almost too hard, rolling the delicate organs into his hand with his thumb. Another strangled cry came from the elf beneath him, hips bucking as much as they could with the man leaning on his thighs. "You want to be used." It was a statement, not a question. A glare then, eyes opening to see Dorian's face. His hand moved a bit more to grip the base of the perfect elven cock before leaning in. He licked R'ae's open lips, bit them, penetrated them, tasted his mouth. He pulled down to his neck, drawing his tongue up slowly to the flushed face, breathing in the heady scent of sweat and lust. Fingers tightened into his forearm

                "Maker, but you are mine now." He lightened his grip on the elf's neck as he began stroking his cock, grinding himself into the soft flesh over his hip, letting the air rush in as groans rushed out. Dorian allowed only a few seconds to let him build and get himself back before that hand clamped down again. He raised his hips now, holding his weight on his knees as his slid his right hand from R'ae's cock. He gave little warning as the hand crossed to the other's right arm, and loosening his other hand, he rolled the elf as hard as he could.

                R'ae swore and kicked underneath him but Dorian was fast, knees pressing hard, his left hand moving to pull the left arm out, finishing the roll and forcing the man face-down. The elf brought his own knees up under him as Dorian descended. His left arm hooked around R'ae's chest, hand across his neck only to hold him close, the right sliding down between his legs. He didn't fight as R'ae tried to leverage himself up off the bed, letting him drive himself against Dorian's hardness, creating space in which he could stroke all the better. It was seconds before he felt the elf dissolve into it, the muscles of his back twitching against the hard planes of Dorian's chest, rolling wordless noise rising from him as his pleasure built.

                "I'm giving you ten seconds, elf," came the dark growl in his ear. The human's own hardness ground itself against R'ae's ass to emphasize its meaning. Slender fingers released their grip on the bed, flying frantically, eagerly to the bedside drawer and diving deep into a ceramic pot that was never far. He reached around without looking, slicking Dorian completely in oil, trailing fingers over his own opening as they withdrew. The hand left his cock then, sliding around to part his cheeks. He managed to haul one leg out and up to make room, and then Dorian was in him.

                The elf cried out as he buried himself completely within a few hard strokes. The oil was the only mercy the human was allowing tonight. He gave himself over to the tightness, the heat, the way the other man clenched hard around him, burying himself over and over with thoughtless intensity, ignoring the maddened sounds coming from beneath him. Groaning in spite of himself he finally pulled almost all the way out, giving a few short thrusts against the centre of R'ae's pleasure before leaving him empty.

                "Against the wall. Kneel." R'ae hesitated, chest heaving, only to have a sharp crack resound off his tender ass. He screamed into the bed. " _Now!_ " He scrambled onto his knees, clutching the headboard for balance. Dorian's own legs parted him, hands holding his hips as he found his mark again.

                "Dorian..." It was barely a whimper. One hand found the bedframe and the other an elven shoulder, and the human found his pace again. R'ae's breath was harsh and ragged as he let himself be ridden, hands against the wall now, head back on Dorian's shoulder. He gasped helplessly as the man behind him finally took hold of his cock, working him with fast, expert strokes, bringing him closer...

                Fingers dug into stone, and Dorian's hand moved from his shoulder to his neck. He clamped down as hard as was safe, feeling R'ae's pulse fluttering like a trapped thing under his fingers, cutting short those ragged breaths. He slowed his pace as the other man bucked against him. Fingers dug deep into his forearm as R'ae came, a white sticky mess painting across the headboard. He finally let himself go then, moving both hands to the elf's hips, pounding hard and fast into the panting body until the coil of heat in him exploded. His head dropped onto sweaty shoulders with an inarticulate groan as he filled the smaller man, shudders chasing his orgasm out of his body.

*****************************************************************

                The relief, the release R'ae felt transcended the physical. Dorian finally slowed behind him, heat radiating from his exertion, crushing their bodies together as he came. Seconds passed like hours as silence fell between them, each breath deep and heavy, pleasure slowing its course. R'ae let his head slowly roll to the side, feeling the tickle of the other man's hair on his face.

                Dorian was the first to move. He let his cheek rest against the elf's back as he ran his hands up his sides and down again, touches hesitant and feather-light. He reached over to the bedside table to pull out a soft cloth, cupping against the base of himself as he slowly eased out. The elf couldn't help a small arch of his back at that. There was a small, sharp sting as gravity pulled Dorian's seed out with him, but the soft cloth between R'ae's legs didn't move. He couldn't help but cock an eyebrow -- this was new, and the intimacy of that kind of care kept him still. He let Dorian catch what spilled out of him, let him wipe the insides of his legs where it had already started to run, hands deft and gentle. R'ae was all but completely clean before Dorian set the cloth aside.

                He let himself be leaned back by strong arms, his own flesh weak and pliant. "Here. Lay down." The words were all but a whisper, and he gladly complied as those arms settled him into the bed. The quiet of the room pressed in on him suddenly, bringing the storm inside him to the fore, and only then did R'ae truly appreciate how quiet he'd become in turn. There was a powerful ache in his chest, a pain that threatened still, but the screams in him had finally died. He hadn't been torn asunder. His body was weak but it was whole, and he would live through this. The guilt that accompanied that thought was almost overwhelming, but he could be strong enough to bear it. He _was_ strong enough to bear it.

                Only once he was comfortable did Dorian go about cleaning himself, sparing a couple swipes for the dripping headboard. He rose and rifled about briefly through his things before producing another small clay jar and returning to bed. R'ae recognized something in the scent, but asked nothing.

                "You're hurt." The voice was small and distant. One hand held the open jar while Dorian set the other on the elf's hip, rolling him forward ever so slightly, as gently as he could manage. "This is... it's a salve. It's got a dragonthorn base. Works wonders." His eyes looked only away.

                "I'm okay. You didn't hurt me." It was a lie, but R'ae didn't know what else to say. Dorian's face was neutral, which was completely wrong and out of place. The lie was apparently wrong, too -- the human pulled his hand back to himself, replacing the lid on the jar without a sound and leaned over to set it on the bedside table.

                "It's there if you change your mind."

                "Dorian..."

                "I'm going to go get you some water. Do... do you need lyrium? Does it burn?" R'ae tried to reach for him as he stood, but the other man pulled away as if the touch pained him. Dorian was right; losing control had his limbs and core aching from magical overexertion. The sex had pushed him over the edge, and he felt like a boneless mass of raw nerves.

                "I don't need anything. I just.... please don't leave." When had his own voice gotten so small? The human stood a few feet away, hand on the wall, gazing through the flecks of dust floating in front of him. When he finally looked back, his brow was knit with pain. A fresh pang of guilt found a home in R'ae's chest. How much more room could there be?

                "I don't have to stay if you don't... I mean, I know..." He sighed into himself, his own eyes downcast now. How many times could he apologize tonight? "I don't want to impose." _Yes, I do!_ "I have no right to ask any more of you." _... well... no, I don't._ He could see Dorian's sharp mind working behind those golden eyes, but the man didn't move, didn't speak.

                R'ae tried to push himself up, finding it took far more work than was normally necessary. He rolled into a sitting position, only to draw a hissing breath and rock back onto one hip. He was sure his face had begun to flush. He let his weigh ease back onto one arm as he lay propped up on his side again, eyes catching the little jar of salve.

                "I'm sorry. Again. I am apparently perpetually fucking sorry." He tried to make his expression as compliant and conciliatory as possible. "May I... I would appreciate if your offer still stood."

                Of all the things he expected to see when he looked up again, the glistening in Dorian's eyes was pretty well the last. _Of all the -- !_ R'ae's mind reluctantly began giving up pieces, laying them out in an unhappy array. He'd actually torn into him in his rage, and for all his fierce words, the other man hadn't really fought back. If the instinct to protect himself weren't second nature to the human, the elf could have -- no, would have done some serious damage. For all his madness, Dorian's arms had still been unquestioningly steady and safe around him as he was led from the wreckage of his quarters. And what had been his thanks? He'd been used. He'd let himself be used as surely as he ever had, forcing himself to hurt the first person he'd ever been free with, standing strong the whole time because that's what had been needed of him. Even after it all, what had Dorian done but tried to heal his lover, try to look after him, to ease any pain he'd caused? Small wonder he would be upset at being pushed away. _How far have I pushed him tonight?_

                "Fucking Creators." R'ae's breath hitched, and he put every ounce of self-control he had left into pushing down his fear. "You mean... you're everything. Please don't go. I don't want you to go." Dorian didn't move under his gaze, and with a deep breath he managed to look away again. "I'll tell you anything. I'll... I'll tell you everything. Just... stay with me?" Bare feet padded back to the bed. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dorian sat back down on the covers.

                "No one wants to hear about the embrium, even though it does most of the work." His voice was quiet but steady as he reached for the little jar of salve. "Dragonthorn gives it a bit of heat, which apparently counts for more than the actual _healing_." R'ae lowered himself weakly down onto his side on the bed, rolling forward slightly to catch his weight on an arm and outstretched leg. He watched as Dorian removed the jar lid and paused to look at him. Whatever the look on his face, it must have been reassuring, because the human dipped two fingers into the mix.

                It did sting at first, where he'd been stretched too quickly. The promised heat flashed on his skin but he made no sound, and it soon shifted into an increasingly pleasant warmth. The sting grew dull, finally fading into the gentle caress of his lover's fingers. R'ae's eyelids slowly fluttered shut.

                "You aren't angry." It was a statement, not a question, and it came out of Dorian half-reluctant, half-surprised.

                "How could I possibly be angry?"

                "I find it exceptionally easy, myself." That brought a small grin. There was the man he knew.

                "Are _you_? Angry, I mean?" A couple beats of silence fell between them.

                "Probably not. Certainly not tonight, in any event."

                Lavellan took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know if I'd have survived this without you." Dorian's fingers stopped then. He wiped them on the last clean corner of the discarded cloth before recapping the jar and setting it aside. Shuffling further onto the bed, one hand extended to run itself through wild silver hair.

                "Well I do." R'ae fell into silence. He was blinking back tears again, amazed he had anything left to offer. A warm body slid into the bed next to him and found its home against his side, in the crook of his knees, the angle of his hips, the curve of his neck. Dorian propped his head up on one hand, letting the other slide across the elf's body. "And I'm not talking about the Inquisitor or the Herald. Just you. Just Lavellan. You're stronger than you think."

                "Maybe so, but I don't know if I'm strong enough to be the only one." A small knot of nausea rolled in his gut at the words, his body curling in on itself involuntarily.

                "The only what?" Dorian stopped. There had never been another Herald, another Inquisitor. "You don't mean..." R'ae didn't move, didn't look at him. "Oh, Maker." Her wrapped himself around the elf, pulling him in as if to protect him from forces unseen, resting his lips on the back of his neck and leaving slow, tender kisses behind. "I am so sorry."

                Lavellan swallowed heavily, managing to breath in spite of himself. "Yeah. The halla. The children. Every last aravel. Everyone. _Entirely_... yeah." He watched the fabric bedclothes with intense fascination as he spoke. "It's not even like there's a town to go back to. Nowhere to visit. I'm it. I'm all that's left. I am the entirety of clan Lavellan."


	7. The End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan withdraws after the loss of his clan. He doesn't belong here, but the Inquisition can't lose him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write iambic pentameter to save my life, which is a sin because I really enjoy Solas. Hope I still captured enough of his character.

                The first day after the world ended, Dorian barred the door. He gathered food from the kitchens and bottles of alcohol from who-knows-where, brought pitchers of water, and spent a few hours in the rest of the keep selling their comrades a story about the instability of the mark. The Inquisitor had to rest, he said, and they let him take on the charge. He insisted no one be allowed in the upper chambers until he gave the word. He did not want anyone touching the old elven leathers. Lavellan mostly slept, eating little. Dorian read in a high-backed chair in the corner until the sun finally set.

                The second day after the world ended, Dorian continued to bring food and water. The elf lit into the liquor that day, drinking himself into a sleep that would not otherwise come. He took no food. He did not want to talk. He would get better, he said, but right now he could not bear the sight of the keep. The human left him to it, heading to the upper chambers to survey the extent of the damage. He'd not noticed it before, but a small trunk lay open in a far corner of the room near the remains of the shattered desk. Some of its contents he understood but did not recognize, like the sheathed daggers along the side. Others he knew immediately -- a halla statuette made of blown glass, for example, which they'd found during their travels, and a few dirty old books from the Emerald Graves. Cautiously, he took the leathers from the bed, slipped them into the trunk, and stole away with the whole thing. He slipped it under his own bed with no risk of waking the inebriated elf. The staff were given permission to start repairs.

                The third day after the world ended, Lavellan wanted to leave. Not through the courtyard, mind, not via the gate. There were stories of mages who could take the shape of beasts and birds -- that was how he would make his escape. Escape from what? He was silent after this, rolling into the wall, eyes squinting shut as he waited for sleep to return.

                It was on the afternoon of the third day that Dorian went to find Cole. He was still not in his usual place, apparently having refused to leave Solas' study after the explosion. The human could feel the tingle of wards as he crossed the threshold and silently appraised the modest but effective design. They had been left up, it turned out, on Cole's behalf; Solas had raised them to protect him when Lavellan had gone mad. No, not gone mad! He was not mad.

                "Your trouble brings his trouble with it," whispered the spirit. "You want to help but he wants to hurt, to fight, to flee, to destroy. He is lost, and you cannot find him."

                "I didn't even know I was meant to be looking for him." Dorian was terse. "A step forward already." Solas stepped forth, blocking their line of sight, making the human focus on him.

                "You should not be here. Cole has bound himself too tightly to the Inquisitor, and until I am satisfied that the threat is passed, I will not risk his pain passing my wards through you." Dorian glowered.

                "Do you think I would be here if it were not important? I need his help. _The Inquisitor_ needs his help."

                "He can be of no help without exposing himself, and I will not allow him to take that risk. The answer is no." Solas folded his arms and stood his ground. For such a quiet, understated man, he could be damned stubborn.

                "Fasta vass." Dorian began to pace, visibly agitated. "My own personal feelings aside, this cannot stand. You cannot leave him this way."

                "What, with some obscure overactive magic wreaking havoc on his drapery?" It was the elf's turn to glower. "You are lucky none of his advisors understand the Fade, or you'd be hung by your thumbs and this would be done. If you knew half of what I do, you'd know the absurdity of your lie. Now get out."

                Lavellan's words rang in his mind, drawing fresh blood. _Get out._

                "He didn't mean it. I mean, he did mean it, but it wasn't you. He didn't see you."

                "Stop, Cole." Both men spoke at once, and were answered with silence.

                "Fine, I lied. Now help him."

                "How could I possibly? I cannot give him back what he has lost. I could not dream of how to replace it." Dorian winced. If the spirit had been holed up here since the blast, of course he knew. "Even if Cole went to him, what do you suppose it would take to undo what has been done?" Solas sighed, resigned. "I am sorry, my friend, but I do not know what to tell you. This will take a long time to heal."

                "We don't have that kind of time." Dorian crossed his arms, watching the stone floor. "He's done, Solas. He can barely handle just being in these walls. He isn't coming back. I don't know what to do with this! Even if..." A small sigh escaped the human's lips. "This isn't about me. If the Inquisition loses the Herald, it will fall."

                "And were it simple as applying a bandage, I would know what to tell you, friend."

                Dorian's face was beginning to darken, his shoulders tight as he fought the urge to pace the room. "I know." He could not look ahead. "In another life, if this were anyone else, I would agree with you. Maker, if he was just upset we might be able to work with that, but..." His arms had begun to gesture without his input, and he pinned them back to his chest. "He blames himself, you know."

                "He remembers how to hate," came the comment from the far wall. It brought a look of discontent from Solas. "He sees with angry eyes and the world looks wrong. There's not enough of him to understand."

                The elf rubbed his bald head, looking around the room for answers in the air. Cole watched him expectantly, but he merely shook his head. "Does he sleep? Can he?"

                "It's all he does. When he wakes, it's long enough to drink and piss. Why?"

                "If he can reach the Fade and dream, I may find a way there to help." He lifted a hand as Dorian's eyes brightened, eyebrows lifting into his hairline. "I said I _may_! There is no guarantee. It is very likely I will accomplish nothing. Honestly, you have probably done more for him that you realize, and there may be nothing more that I can do. Do not forget, you are likely the reason he's here to need our help at all. Do you understand?" Dorian rushed forward, catching himself just short of hugging the contrary apostate.

                "I am exceedingly grateful that you are even willing to try," he replied.

                "Of course I am. You are not the only one here who cares for him, just the only one who goes about it so... physically. Any of us would do what we could, if indeed there were anything to be done." Solas shooed him off, busying himself at the drawers of his desk. "I may need to pay a visit to the apothecary, but here -- just in case he has trouble drifting off tonight." He placed a half-full vial of clear fluid in Dorian's outstretched hand. "It is what I use when I want to make sure I dream soundly. The drinker can slip off within minutes if he tries, and it makes for a very restful night. And it is completely tasteless... in case that becomes relevant."

                Dorian swallowed hard. He didn't know if he could drug his lover, even if it meant the fate of the Inquisition.

                "It cannot keep him down if he does not wish it," Solas told him, as if reading his mind (or the telling look on his face). "I would suggest offering it first, but do as you will. Now go on. Give me time to prepare." With a quick nod and a wave to Cole, Dorian turned and almost ran out of the study. His feet took familiar steps two at a time up to the small stacks on the second floor. He pawed through the sea of pages, picking out a few volumes of interest before heading off. Vial tucked safely into one of his many inner pockets, he shifted the stack in his arms and made his way back to his chambers.

                He did not expect R'ae to acknowledge him when he entered, and thus he was not disappointed. He set his small collection down in a stack next to his reading chair before drawing the vial from his robes and tucking it into a drawer. The elf did not stir. With a sigh, Dorian sat himself on the side of the bed and let his hand linger on the smaller man's shoulder. He was terrible at this. The Pavuses were not exactly the nurturing sort; short of food, drink, alcohol, and a warm bed, he had no idea what the hell he could offer. It had barely been three days and already he was at his wit's end. So, he said the only thing he could think of.

                "Does it have to be a bird?" He elicited no reply. "I was thinking, and I suspect you'll probably have to account for preservation or substitution of mass, if it's anything like normal transfiguration. You're... well, you're probably too heavy to fly." A small hand worked its way up to weave with his.

                "It doesn't have to be a bird."

                "Thank the Maker. The thought of having to account for that kind of shift was really starting to unnerve me. Leaves a lot of room for complications." They sat in silence for a minute, Dorian absently rubbing the back of Lavellan's hand. "I think a ram would be pretty easy."

                "A ram." A slow smile started on the elf's mouth.

                "Well it wouldn't be forever!"

                "I am _not_ learning how to shapeshift just so I can look like a hunter's lunch."

                "Oh, but just think of it. You'd make a terrific rump roast." R'ae actually gave a tiny snort at that; a small sound, but it tugged powerfully at Dorian's heart.

                "No deal, babe. Fangs or go home." He rolled back a little, looking up at the human's grinning face.

                "Oh sure, because _that_ will be easy to get by people. 'Wild wolf, coming through! Never mind him, he's quite friendly, just go about your business, nothing to see here!' " Neither man could resist a chuckle at the image. "If you want fangs so badly, we can probably make sure your little ram-head has them." R'ae's laugh turned into an unimpressed groan.

                "A truly majestic beast," he quipped.

                "I am, I know, but do try to stay on topic." Dorian swiped hair back from Lavellan's forehead, planting a kiss in its wake. His voice was teasing, but his expression was soft as he looked down at the tired face beneath him. Without input to build on, R'ae quickly fell quiet. "You know, there's a bathing room just down the hall. You'll sleep more easily if you're clean and fed." He kissed a small crease of worry at the comment. "Let me clear the room for you. It's usually quite empty at this time of day anyway."

                "... Only if there's no one there."

                "As you wish. I shall be but a moment."

*******************************************************

                True to his word, it took the mage no time at all. Skinner stood at the outer door when they arrived, small bag and towel at her foot, eyes looking away as Dorian led Lavellan past her. "I said only if no one was here!"

                "She hadn't started yet. And can you think of anyone more scary to stand guard, to make sure you're not interrupted? This actually works out perfectly." He had a point. More importantly, R'ae really didn't have it in him to protest. He began to draw the bath, letting Dorian add some crushed _stuff_ that he always seemed to have, breathing in the scented steam as it came up hot and inviting. Being a mage did have its perks, and not having to sit over open fire to take a warm bath was one of them.

                He let himself sink into the water, feeling the heat run up to the tips of his ears. He heard Dorian discard his top behind him, and before he could ask how in heaven's name he planned to fit two of them in there, strong arms slid down his body from behind the tub where the human knelt. The man kissed his cheek, his temple, and R'ae allowed it. He let those deft hands scrub his body front and back, one hand pulling his chin gently to the side as water and soap found his neck. He let himself rock under the light pressure, giving up limbs as they were requested of him. His eyes rolled shut as those hands found his feet, kneading them each for a minute before letting them sink back down. Cleaning his hair was an exquisite pleasure. He'd not bothered to replace his braid since... before, and he'd let his silver locks become unkempt and tangled. Those hands worked through them though, rubbing soaps through and in, sliding knots apart and pulling it all clean. Fingers kneaded into his scalp, and he let his breath flow deep and unhurried. When Dorian finally removed his hands, Lavellan just let himself lay there, eyes shut, surrounded by warmth and silence.

                The rinsing was more quick, but no less attentive. Water sluiced through his hair and down his body, taking soap and stress with it. He could make out the faint smell lingering on his skin, part of Dorian's smell. He pulled the human close and kissed him. His body was still wet, but Dorian held him until he broke away, and when he did, the towelling commenced. Hair, shoulders, body and legs, arms and fingers. Some distant voice inside wanted to press his pale, naked flesh into the man before him but he stood still, compliant, letting him work. Lavellan had never been tended in such a way before. He suspected Dorian had never done such tending either, but he said nothing. He refused to admit that human hands on him could be so soothing.

                Skinner sniffed at them as they left, her discontent hiding amusement and subtle approval. The change in the Inquisitor was visible, palpable. At least the interruption of her bathing had garnered good news for the chief.

****************************************************

                It hadn't occurred to Lavellan that he'd been refusing food; he simply hadn't wanted to eat. Dorian had been diligent in bringing food each day, things that wouldn't lose appeal at room temperature, and part of him had been grateful but he just... couldn't.

                The steaming tray that awaited them had his mouth watering now though, and his stomach growled painfully in agreement. Two plates lay covered in gravy-smothered roast, accompanied by dark greens and chard and the sweetest carrots he could ever remember tasting. The bread was still soft, and they even had sent a pat of butter up with the lot of it. It was a strange human thing, the way they treated animal milk, but he continually failed to find shame in just how much he enjoyed butters and cheeses. He was failing again tonight, putting away as much of the meal as his idle stomach could handle.

                As quiet as he'd been, Dorian couldn't stifle a chuckle at the sight. "If you make yourself sick, you'll be sleeping in the stables."

                " _Mmphf._ "

                "Come now. Would I make a threat I wasn't ready to keep?" Lavellan almost laughed a gulp of wine straight up his nose.

                "Only if you're awake."

                Dorian had been right; washed and fed, a physical desire to rest was finally returning to him. The couple glasses of wine he'd had brought a warmth into his fingers instead of a haze into his head. While he far preferred that sensation... he knew it wasn't enough. There was nothing to focus on, nothing to distract him once dinner was done, and nausea began to rise in his throat. Dark walls were pressing in on his mind again. This wasn't him, this wasn't right. If only he could sleep it off. If only the sun would be there when he woke, warm and pleasing and healing and pure. _His_ sun, that came up early and stayed out late, the sun that brought life and dictated days and sustained the world that sustained them all.

                "Amatus." He'd been staring again, hadn't he? He wished Dorian would stop worrying. It was strange. Did he look as broken as he felt? _Two weeks ago, I'd have had to pamper the hell out of him to make up for this_. A dark hand laid itself over his own, drawing him wordlessly from his chair and back to the bed.

                "I'm sorry, _vh..._ Dorian. I really am." It was to the human's credit that he didn't flinch at the retraction. "I know you don't want to do this." A soft sigh came from the man at his side.

                "We are so far away from what I want, I can't even tell you." He watched the stack of books as Lavellan undressed and slipped under the covers. "What I want is to rip this sickness out of you, to mend the hell that is your world. I would give you back your family and tear that mark from your hand, and make every last person here forget your name if that's what it took. Myself included." He turned to face the desk with a small, sad smile. "I will settle for finding you a way to escape. In the meantime..." Fingers lingered on the drawers, wandering along the edge of the wood, words failing to find purchase on his tongue. "In the meantime, try to get some sleep."

                R'ae reached out to catch Dorian's fingers in his own, drawing them to his lips to plant a small kiss.

                "Thank you."

**********************************************************************

                Solas had no trouble finding the swirling morass that had become the mind of the Inquisitor. Navigating it, well... that was a hair trickier. It was completely unlike the first (and only) time they had met in the Fade; Lavellan had been focused, dreaming with clarity and self-awareness then. Tonight he was a bog, a tumultuous cesspool of half-rendered bodies with echoing voices under taloned branches. The sickly green of the Breach shone through leaves where the sun should have been, giving everything a surreal glaze. This... was not promising.

                He made for the greatest centre of sound, picking his way carefully through the hostile undergrowth. And it _was_ hostile -- fast-growing brush, groaning trees, thorned vines snaking along the ground and across his path. It was almost enough to make him sniff in disdain, but he stilled his disapproval; the Inquisitor was potentially fractured and falling, if the Tevinter and the spirit had any insight. This should be expected, not chastised. He moved through the obstacles without so much as a passing glance.

                The apostate knew he was getting close when he began stepping over the mangled dead. They were strewn carelessly and showed various states of decay; the furthest out were little but skeletons. They were tall and short, male and female, but every last one was human and screaming. One was slouched over a branch, another had an arm off, a third still had a blade in his throat. Solas thanked the mercy of the Fade that he didn't have to contend with flies or the stench.

                Voices grew louder as the bodies grew fresher. Two men burst from the forest behind him, yelling as they ran, blades glistening in their hands. Elves both, but so young! Sixteen, seventeen maybe? Their quarry materialized before them as he watched, a middle-aged human bleeding profusely from his arm. The man managed a small burst of energy when a third elf emerged from the brush before him, furious and familiar. The new boy might have been a lad of fifteen, but he tore magic from his bones as would a man twice his age. A thick spear of ice ripped down his arm as he braced himself, piercing the human chest with a spray of blood and viscera. Screams could not come, but blood bubbled thick in their place as the body slumped to the forest floor. The young man fixed Solas dead in the eyes, the mangled human little more than an afterthought.

                " _Get. Out_."

                He was wiry and lean, the body of a young man starting to grow in earnest. Black lines ringed his eyes, sharpening the pale irises. His vallaslin could not have been more than a couple years old, but already it was starting to turn from its original black into the vibrant purple the visitor recognized. His head was shorn but for two braided lines that stretched along his scalp like horns, meeting behind his skull to weave into one thick trail. The whole mass was an uneven black as if rubbed with charcoal from a fire-pit, but the stubble on his head was his characteristic silver.

                "Hello, Inquisitor."


	8. Part of Him

                "You are not welcome here." The boy stood defiant, chin up, arms crossed against himself. He was the only being Solas could see now across the landscape of the Inquisitor's mind, dead humans and fellow hunters faded out of his attention. Voices swirled around them thick as fog -- anger, pain, fear, bewilderment, voices both young and old, a cacophony of confusion and memory. He inclined his head at the child before him.

                "Perhaps not. It does not dissuade me."

                "It should."

                "I am to judge if you are fit to lead. It would be foolish to ask permission." A simple lie, but Lavellan did not question it. Solas surveyed the surrounding foliage idly as he spoke, starting to wander again. There was no wrong way to go now that he had the boy's attention. "Are you always this way when no one's looking?"

                "Where do you -- there is nothing wrong with the way I am! -- Get back here!" A slender hand caught his wrist with a sharp jerk. "I lead no one and nothing, save myself. There is nothing for you to judge, _outsider_." _Arrogant and prideful_ , Solas remarked bemusedly. _The boy or the man?_

                "Certainly not. Then you must be in control of these memories -- " he gestured into the whispering voices. " -- though it sounds as if they scream of their own accord." The young man glowered, but did not release his grip. Solas inclined his head, his expression neutral. "Show me, Inquisitor. Show me what you cannot escape."

                Bodies began to blur into view, running and slashing, fighting and killing. Lavellan grit his teeth, but he could only manage to punch holes in the backdrop as the flood began. A broken aravel in the background. Dead elves on the ground. Humans in leather with biting swords.

                " _This is not for you to see!_ " A fist came into the corner of Solas' vision, barely clipping his jaw as he jerked back.

                "Focus, then! I am taking nothing from you." One of the beautiful things about the Fade was how strong memories and emotions could shape the landscape, and with Lavellan's mind in disarray he was completely unable to stop them.

                _Mother! Mother, where are you?_

                The spindly boy was furious, releasing the older man's wrist before lunging at him. Solas retaliated, though he scarcely needed to; even in his own mind, where he should have greater strength and dominion, R'ae's form had barely the force the young body would have had. Solas pinned him easily against the increasingly detailed forest floor.

                "Why have you come, really? You want to see my shame? You want to watch me kill them over and over? Because that is all you will find here." His feet were scrabbling furiously for purchase as he twisted against the hold, but the voice was steadying and thick with rage. " _Death is all I have to offer_ , hahren. If that's why you've come, then let me up and I'll be glad to oblige."

                _Where are your sisters, da'len? WHERE ARE YOUR SISTERS?!?_ The slick, wet sounds of carnage did nothing to dim the rising of frantic voices.

                _Mamae! Help!_ The picture was sharp now, voices coming from bodies and the sharp metallic tang of blood and steel a thick, drowning scent. The two dreamers were just at the periphery of battle. _No, not a battle_ , Solas whispered inwardly. In a battle, both sides were armed. This was a slaughter. A young woman, sobbing and wailing and covered in blood, was being dragged off by two massive human men. Throats were being slashed. Bodies were being beaten beyond recognition, becoming hamburger and paste against rocks and trees.

                "We do not have to watch this, Inquisitor."

                "You're right. You don't." The voice under him was sullen, petulant. "Unless this is your kind of show, ghost. After all, you did ask for it." The scene kept playing around them, some parts replaying themselves in the fragmented memory as new bits worked themselves out in the foreground. "I, on the other hand, apparently cannot afford to forget it."

                A young girl was dragged out from under a half-wrecked aravel, eyes shut, cheeks red from sobbing. She kicked and thrashed against the human to no avail; after all, she may have had what, five summers? Lavellan tensed under Solas' grip as she began to scream. Her silver hair was long and unbound, and filthy from having wriggled into as tight a hiding spot as she could have managed. One calloused, dirty hand pulled her little chin up, filthy sneer examining her face.

                "She had so much spirit." Lavellan spoke with detached solemnity as the girl bit down on that hand with all her might. The man howled. The girl broke his hold and tried to run. Her blood came in a singular torrent, a dam being released as his blade cut her almost clean in two. "Her name was Aisul'lahn, and the fluid that ran out from her spine was sticky." A younger image of Lavellan ran into view as the humans ran out, pursuing fleeing targets into the woods. His vallaslin was black and fresh and rimmed still in red. The knees of his pants were torn and the panic wild in his eyes as he knelt by the small girl's body. His little sister.

                "Your people were hunted like animals." Solas' voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "But this... you must know this could not be your fault."

                "Come on, old man. I don't need your pity. You can't tell me whose fault it is or isn't. You have no idea why they came."

                "They came because they're _sick_ ," came the snarling response. "Because the slaughter of innocents makes them feel powerful. You did not cause this."

                "But I brought it down on us. On her." He was not struggling anymore. His body had relaxed, head falling to rest on the ground. His tired eyes were older than they frame that wore them. Solas released his wrists and eased off him to let the boy sit, resting back on his own haunches beside him. "Mother lost both her daughters and her soul mate that day. We lost our First. A full third of our clan was killed."

                "You cannot blame yourself for their actions." The young Inquisitor looked away from him, eyes fixing on a point behind the older elf. Solas turned to find a small clearing, radiant and inviting, where two boys sat next awkwardly next to each other. One was clearly Lavellan, the same young Lavellan he'd just seen run into the thick of the carnage. The clothing and bare face marked the other boy clearly as a city elf. They were both blushing furiously, a left hand firmed clasped in a right, looking anywhere but at each other.

                _Why not come stay with us? I know our Keeper would let you_.

                "The humans showed up at our camp, screaming that we'd given refuge to a thief."

                "Was he?"

                "I don't know. This was the last time I saw him." Solas' eyebrows crept up his face.

                "And this is how you justify your guilt?" He looked back to see a slightly older Lavellan sitting next to him now, of perhaps eighteen or nineteen years. Broader shoulders, wider limbs, a single black mohawk trailing into a thick black braid, now adorned in hunter's leathers. The black around his eyes was more practiced, clean lines that sharpened his piercing gaze. He'd acquired a few scars. Were those still there today? "You believe the boy turned you over to them?"

                "They showed up within a day and a half," came the quiet reply. "We'd had no other contact with the city. And moreover, I don't need you to believe it for it to be true. Isn't that what Andrastians are always telling me about that Herald shit?" One corner of his mouth curled up into a disgusted half-smile. Solas shook his head in disbelief.

                "So _this_ is what has been festering in you...?" A sharp strike spun his head around this time. R'ae had swung out lightning-fast and impacted the intruder's face with full, unexpected force.

                "Fuck you, festering. I do not need to justify myself to you! I spent every day after this trying to put myself on the right path, checking my every thought, correcting every faltering step and every errant behaviour. I thought I had lost everything, and then I lost my mother. I discovered that the clan had been my family all along, that I owed everything to them. I discovered how much I still had to lose. I stopped killing out of hate, only to start killing to protect. Do you have any idea how many dead lay behind me, slain in the name of keeping my people safe?" He bristled angrily as more voices waded in around them. "And you want to know the best part? _It worked_. It worked until the Keeper tried to convince me it didn't. I took her word instead of the many years of evidence I'd won in blood, and I tried to remake myself."

                It took a world of effort for Solas to still himself as Lavellan snarled down at him. He wore a younger body and a wholly uncharacteristic severity, but this was still the man he knew. His heart was as exposed as his memory, spilling across his mindscape and shaping the very atmosphere, and Solas was discovering the fiery temper that apparently still simmered below the surface. He didn't know if there was anything to be done for this yet, but at the very least his trip was proving informative.

                "Festering. Fuck's sake. Do you know how hard it is to learn not to hate? The Keeper wanted so badly for me to find peace, and she was the centre of my little world at the time. I tried for her. I remade the right path, tried to walk the one she wanted me to. There were so many little corrections every day... I started to spare lives that I should have taken, that should have stood as a warning. I let useless, savage shem feet walk our grounds, let their slobbering mouths pollute our air." Lavellan's voice slowly started to quiet. "I forgot what I was. I forced myself to forget one of the most important lessons I ever learned."

                "And what lesson would that be?"

                The blood-soaked camp flooded back around them, with the two men in the thick of it. Solas found himself kneeling in a dark, viscous pool, and the powerful stench of opened bowels and viscera hit him square. R'ae was letting every detail he knew blow in, a nauseating reminder of just how well his mind still retained this small, personal slice of hell. The little girl lay before him, Aisul'lahn, irises completely dilated in death. The white of her spine shone through sticky clumps of red and pink, a small pool of clear fluid oozing out from where the vertebrae had snapped, where the fragile cord was exposed.

                "I forgot which end of the sword they belonged at." Lavellan stood before him, eyes dark. "I spent a full decade working myself into tolerance and acceptance at the Keeper's behest. Apparently, I even learned to trust them. I let myself believe that this -- " he gestured down at the pale, ruined body " -- was the work of a small few, that the human world wasn't really like this. That they could be reasoned with, worked with." He looked away, voice getting quiet, resigned."I forgot they were the enemy. I forgot and forgave the cost that had been exacted from our flesh over the years, excusing the many in the name of the few. I let them... I let _myself_ be taken in, courted and dined and flattered, letting them show me what I wanted to see. I forgot how much I still had to lose. You know, I should have let it fester."

                Solas looked up from the girl to see R'ae the man, the adult, the Inquisitor standing before him. Silver hair hung loose on one side while braided down the other, stark purple vallaslin tracing down over his eye. The Anchor glowed a familar green against his left hand, even through the dark palm of a glove. He was clad in worn travelling leathers. The hilt of a dagger poked out from a sheath at his hip, a second smaller from one boot, and a staff was strapped in against his back.

                "It's over, lethallin. I will not be kept on leash any longer. I was a fool, and it has finally cost me everything. You come to judge the leader of the human army, but he is no longer here. I am not their Inquisitor." He spread his arms wide in invitation. The scene around them tumbled back into the peace of forest, bodies and ruin fading. "I am just an elf, an animal and a killer who is far from home."

                Solas stood quietly. He let the silence hang between them a moment as he chose his words. "Do you believe Corypheus to be only a human problem? Does he pose no threat to the Dalish? The Inquisition is primarily human, I admit, but that is because they far outnumber elves. You yourself have sought to extend its hand -- and its protection -- to everyone."

                "The Inquisition has built itself up beyond needing me. It is just another shemlen army looking to shape the world in its image. It is run by humans in fact, if not in name. I am... a showpiece."

                "You undervalue your efforts. The Breach could not have been closed without you; nor could you have done so without the human mages who surrendered you their power. You save people every day. Moreover, whether you like it or not, the magister has aligned himself against you. He will come for you."

                "The _human_ magister. Let him come."

                "The _darkspawn_ magister, and he will kill you!" Solas was on his feet then, fury in his eyes. "I don't know whether this is arrogance or self-pity, but the idea of facing him alone is easily the most foolish thing I have ever heard you suggest." R'ae's eyes widened in surprise as the other man advanced on him, one finger jabbed into his chest. "This is not about elves and humans, the cruel or the just. This is about the fact that a darkspawn has decided to rend the world, and like it or not, _you_ bear the mark that draws him. _You_ lead the people who want to see him fall, see the world restored to order, and I am not sorry that humans number among them."

                Lavellan's hand closed around Solas', lowering it slowly between them. "You're probably right."

                "... I am."

                "Let him come. And if -- or when -- I fail, let the human world burn. Let all creation burn for their hubris. Let them feel the hell that their hate hath wrought. It's not like they have left any of my people alive to feel their pain."

                Solas stared, completely speechless, as the Inquisitor turned and wandered away. _No, not the Inquisitor_. Massive stones, thick redwoods, wandering halla and crackling firepits came into view as he walked. A sickening green shone through it all where the sun should have been, its mockery dancing along the rocks. He knew this circle. He'd dreamt here before. It was one of the meeting sites that was sometimes used for the Arlathvhen. It was always populated in the Fade, shaped by hope and happiness and the warmth that came with reunion of friends and family. Here in the waste of Lavellan's mind, it was empty. No one tended the fires. No one minded the halla. Not a soul cooked or kissed or danced, not one story filled the air.

                "I know I do not always speak kindly of the Dalish." Solas stepped cautiously past the most peripheral stones. "But I am honoured that you brought me here."

                "We are not here for you. Go home, Solas, wherever that is." The apostate did not move.

                "I would like to make a request before leaving, if you would be willing to hear it."

                "I promise nothing."

                "I understand. I ask only to see a good memory before I go." His face held no shame, no derision, no expectation. R'ae had no reply for him. He wandered idly between gargantuan red-brown boles, letting his fingers trace young bark on old bodies. Solas matched his strides quietly, keeping the distance between them until Lavellan stopped to look back.

                "Do you trust me to comply?"

                "Comply? No. But I do not ask your compliance. I ask your kindness, on the grounds of our friendship. It pains me to see your suffering. I wish only to console myself with the knowledge that it is not all you have left." R'ae bowed his head.

                "Then I'm afraid I have to let you down one last time. I have nothing left to offer that has not been corrupted. I see the bodies of my sisters, my father. I watch what was left of my mother throw herself to her death. I remember the look of horror and disgust on the face of my first love when he realized what I was, when he turned me away. All of my friends are gone, mangled under human hands because _I_ failed to protect them."

                "What of Dorian?"

                "Dorian is..." Lavellan's eyes were downcast as a cool, sorrowful wind swirled around them. His voice became thick, quiet. "Dorian was a mistake. I should never have... it was unwise to take a lover. It was not a luxury I could afford." He wandered over to a crackling fire, lowering himself to sit cross-legged in front of it.

                "And you are not a man of faith, are you?" R'ae outright snorted.

                "I do not believe in the Creators any more than you do, lethallin."

                "I would not say they did not exist," replied Solas. He drew closer to the fire himself, but R'ae didn't move. "Powerful beings maybe, not gods, but I suspect they may have been real enough in their time."

                "So where are they now? Where is their guidance, their wisdom? _Why did they abandon us?_ " Lavellan rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "The Beyond can have them, for all they do. We are as good as alone."

                The two elves were silent then, whispering leaves and crackling flame the only sounds to be heard. Lavellan did not look up from his fire. Solas stood behind him, warring within himself. Dorian and Cole were right. _He isn't coming back... he remembers how to hate._ Finally, he settled on one last question.

                "You blame yourself for the loss of your clan. Why?"

                "I gave the order. I sent soldiers to fight for them, in hopes of keeping them away from the insanity the lyrium had sown. It was insufficient. I made the wrong choice." The words were so simple, so weary.

                _One more elf brought to ruin. Yet another of the People crushed. There is no way out of this sickness. Hate breeds hate, and it will spread until it consumes the world. We need our focus back. We cannot let this stand. Can it be done without this one?_

_... Likely not. Can we heal this one?_

_... Likely not. We are still too weak after our slumber._

_I am_ done _watching our people fall! Lavellan is unlike any we have seen in a very long time. He is strong enough to help us do what needs to be done. It is painful to see him like this. Can we not try?_

Not even birds sang in the trees here. R'ae had begun to hum softly to himself, a tune Solas was certain he knew from some time or another but did not immediately recognize. Indecision roiled briefly in his angry heart.

                _Yes. We will try._

                Solas closed his eyes, one deep, slow breath after another. It felt like flexing an aching joint after many years of disuse, slowly working heat and power up into an old, familiar shape. They were one, burning with all the life and strength of the world that had created them, and they were waking. He was a god, and He would not stand for this. When His eyes opened, He discovered Lavellan had turned to stand before Him, his own eyes wide in confusion. _He feels us_.

                " _You are safe, da'len_." He spoke in elven, the shock on R'ae's face telling Him that He had been understood. " _This world has taken much from you, but no more._ _Your heart will beat free of this. Your spirit will be clean again. Such is My will._ "

                "... Solas?" A nervous wind began to whip through the clearing, but Fen'Harel raised one hand and brought it low, quiet.

                " _I have told you, da'len. You are safe. I will not see you break. Come forward. Kneel before me, and be cleansed_." R'ae could only blink, unmoving.

                "You aren't Solas."

                " _I am, and am not. You fear me a demon, but know this is not true._ "He gestured palm-up to the ground before him. " _Come, child. Do as you are bid. You have not been abandoned. You are not so alone as you think._ "

                Lavellan wavered briefly. There were only a few steps' distance between them, and he took the first one. "If you're not a demon, then... who are you?" Closer. "What do you want from me?" He closed the distance, still standing. "Why -- ?" The Dread Wolf raised a hand to his cheek.

                " _Kneel, da'len._ " R'ae's concern and confusion were palpable, but he did as he was bid. Both knees touched the ground, and he sat back on his calves. His eyes bored up into the alien face, still wanting answers; a simple and physical expression of demand from a being who, in defiance of all the worlds, could still cast this out of himself and stand again. _We must not fail. We will not fail_.

                A second hand raised, so that the god now held Lavellan's face in his hands. Part of Him, the part that was and was not simultaneously, the dark, endless, ageless part, reached out. It wound itself in, tracing the pathways of pain and love and passion and strength, working its way through his very soul. It found purchase in the part of him that was the spirit of the People, and a frantic gasp flew from R'ae's lips. Small mortal hands flew up to lay themselves over His wrists.

                " _I will tell you one last time, da'len. You. Are. Safe_." He lowered His face to kiss the forehead of the young man before Him. Anger and rage, the stoked and searing fires of hate burned back into Him at the touch, charring His lips and scorching His throat. He pulled at the poison that clouded Lavellan's mind, unwinding it from where it clung tight. Never want to feel this way again, no, but hate makes for a poor shield, child. He took it all, the tears and the terror and the shrieking agony, the parts that railed against the injustices of humanity, the parts that bemoaned his own frail mortality and that of those he loved.

                As the tide began to ebb, He pushed the warmth of Skyhold back in its place. Lavellen's mind eased as space was made for the good to return to the fore. Nights of drinking and carousing with Bull and his Chargers, good-natured ribbing and debauched tales that were almost certainly fiction. Practicing the intricacies of swordplay (and verbal sparring) with Vivienne once he'd decided to become a Knight-Enchanter. Cards with Varric and Blackwall and Cullen, poor Cullen who couldn't win a hand to save his life. Easy conversation with Cassandra as they cleaned gore off each other's backs in the Hinterlands. Sneaking around with Sera, nicking sweets from the kitchens and putting powder in bedsheets. Cole, strange and well-meaning Cole, stealing vegetables and inviting spiders and making the keep a better place to live for every lost soul in it. Josephine and Leliana teaching him how to dance with a little wine and a lot of laughter. Even studying with Solas, poring over tomes looking for clues about relics or shards or enemies, listening to stories about the Fade. And Dorian... Dorian dancing, Dorian kissing him in the gardens. Stealing into dark corners like teenagers, fighting for bedcovers, arguing about the latest in soldier fashion. The way he looked at bookshelves now with a happy glow, because they reminded him of his love. They had made a small world of their own out of Skyhold, all of them together. They'd found common cause in a common enemy, but what they had built was so much more than just an army. It was a refuge, a safehouse. It could be a family.

                When finally Fen'Harel withdrew, He could recognize the man knelt before him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but the shuddering laugh that escaped R'ae's lips was one of relief. He was whole. He looked up into Solas' face with amazement as warm golden sunlight spilled down upon his own.

                " _Ma melava halani,_ " he whispered. Fingers flew to his lips when he heard the elven come from them; he didn't know these words, but they continued to flow as he continued to speak. " _How did you do this? I owe you my life. I... I owe you everything._ "

                " _You owe me nothing, da'len. I have not given you anything you did not already have. I have simply helped you remember it._ " A small smile played on Solas' lips as he let his hands drop. " _Now, I suspect you have spent enough time here as of late. Perhaps it is time to return to the land of the living._ " He took a step back, extending his arm to the Inquisitor to urge him to his feet.

                " _Will you not tell me your name? Are you like Cole, a being of compassion? Of mercy?_ "

                " _Da'len, even if I told you my name, you would not remember it on the morrow._ "

************************************************************

                Lavellan awoke with a start, gasping for breath, scrabbling against the bed in an attempt to right himself. He easily made out Dorian's form in the dim light, book forgotten as it fell to the floor, making his way to the elf. Of course... this was his room, his bed. The smell of him, of them; of wine and a hot meal, of soap and that delightful crushed _stuff_ , whatever it was. He threw his arms around Dorian as he descended onto the mattress, burying his face in the man's neck, breathing him in as if he were the air itself. He could barely remember his dreams, but they had been so vivid...

                " _I love you, vhenan. Gods, I love you so much. I have been such a fool_." The elven tumbled from his lips, as natural as if he'd spoken it from birth. Dorian pulled back, eyes wide in surprise, but Lavellan drew him in for a kiss. His lips were hungry, his mouth opening, tongue searching, and he took delight in the way his lover responded in kind. The look of shock and confusion was still there when he withdrew.

                "What?"


	9. F*cking Fade!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small fallout from the siege of Adamant Fortress. This isn't just fun anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An old god has been shaken to his roots by the idea of a demon army rooting about in the earth, looking for old gods to kill. He is forced to acknowledge that even he can be prey, and in his weakened state that is a terrifying thought. He is also the only one who may truly understand what the disappearance of the gods could mean.
> 
> The Inquisitor and the Commander don't really get why Solas is so upset that they've effectively been given shelter and sanctuary to the group that thought this was a good plan.

                Fucking Fade. Fucking Venatori. Fucking power-hungry Warden cowards, too fixated on their fucking hero complex to take a minute and _think_. Hawke was right; blood magic was never worth it. Just because you didn't see the cost upfront didn't mean it wasn't there, and now they were wading through vile green Fade-swill almost a foot deep. By the Creators, when he got back...

                Poor Cole hadn't stopped shaking since they'd fallen ass-first into the demon's lair. He kept muttering to himself, refusing to touch anything he didn't absolutely have to, fingers twitching on his blade grips. It wasn't reassuring. Solas was fascinated, of course, and in complete contrast seemed to feel the need to touch everything he possibly could. Lavellan was glad _somebody_ was enjoying themselves, at least. Iron Bull was a tower of singular, silent fury. His greataxe seemed insatiable here, grinding everything into ectoplasmic paste. As for Dorian, well... he was waving the whole affair off, nonchalant and disinterested as one could be, as if they had simply been invited to an unappealing luncheon. He kept close to Cole, occasionally trying to talk the spirit down, but R'ae could see the tension in his neck and the set of his jaw. Guilty as it made him feel, he was glad for the extra company. A fifth hand was most welcome right now.

                The Nightmare insisted on goading them the whole way. Ride Bull, would he? The thought of taking on the Qunari possessed by a demon this powerful made Lavellan a touch nervous, and a dark laugh resonated inside him as he tried not to imagine it. _Prick_. The idea of having the beast in his own mind was nauseating.

                "It is Dorian, isn't it? For a moment I mistook you for your father. Then again, your father would never dream to bed an elf, and a male no less. Even _he_ is above that." R'ae's gaze flicked over, but his concern was unwarranted.

                "Goodness, not social impropriety. What _will_ people think?" The Tevinter shrugged the demon off with a roll of his eyes. Unamused, the Nightmare took to taunting Solas instead. He marvelled at the elf's fluency in a language he'd thought dead; no one in his clan could speak elven. His Keeper had told him there was no one left who truly could. A niggling thought pressed itself in the back of his mind, but it stayed out of sight. Cole was all too easy to torment, but to his credit he managed to say little.

                "Ah, the _Inquisitor_. Leading his last cherished few to their deaths. It is perhaps your greatest skill." R'ae seethed, but said nothing. "How old were you when you took your first life? He will see you one day, you know, just as Mael did... if he lives long enough." His left hand flexed, leather groaning in his fist.

                The lesser demons of the realm were dispatched easily enough. Hawke mentioned spiders, and Lavellan wished dearly that was what he saw. _They're just demons. They're just demons_. He held the mantra in his head as he cut down the mangled, undead elves advancing on him, trying to avoid familiar faces. No one else commented on what they were fighting.

                His memories came rushing back as they slew their way through the Nightmare's lair, bits and pieces tingling in his mind. Merciful shit. He hadn't seen spiders then, either. Part of him wished he'd left well enough alone; another part -- a larger part -- was relieved that Corypheus' ritual had failed, and was a bit smug at the idea that he'd been the one to ruin it. _Suck it, demon_ , he laughed to himself. _Should have let me keep that one_.

                The Nightmare was too strong, too well-fed for them to stand a chance against it. Lavellan was almost surprised to feel a pang of regret as he let Stroud buy his people their escape back to Thedas. The Wardens had done wrong, gravely wrong, but it was sturdy people like Stroud they needed to guide them back to strength and sanity. His sacrifice would let them seal the damnable thing in the Fade where it belonged, denying Corypheus his demon army, and that would have to be enough. _It's more than enough. More than I had a right to ask._

                Solas was angry, almost disappointed in him when he proclaimed they would be keeping the Wardens. Bull was silent. Cole was still shaking, hating Adamant fortress and hating the company more. Well too damn bad. The Inquisitor would not be setting a scared, shamed, leaderless group of trained warriors loose outside his purview. However he felt about what they had done, the Wardens were a necessity in a world tainted by the Blight, and moreover they were still vulnerable to corruption by the enemy. They would be returning with the Inquisition.

***************************************************************

                "So long as they are _sorry_ about the whole affair, of course! Why _should_ there be consequences for summoning demons to kill gods? And with enough blood magic to make Imperial magisters swoon, no less!" Okay, scratch that. Solas wasn't just disappointed. He was downright pissed. "How can you reward that level of arrogance?? How can you offer them the protection of the Inquisition after what they did? What they tried to do? _What they are willing to do?_ "

                "I am not _rewarding_ them!" Lavellan efforts to restrain the urge to shout back were meeting with only minimal success, both voices echoing off the rotunda. "I may hate what they did, but at least with them under our thumb we can control what they do in the future. I cannot in good conscience scatter them across Orlais, just to be dominated by Corypheus!"

                "So you forgive the egregious abuse of power and knowledge at their disposal? They claim to protect this realm, unacknowledged heroes, but I struggle to think of how they could have failed more entirely."

                "I have not forgiven them!"

                "But you have! In the eyes of all Thedas, the Inquisitor has pardoned their corruption, their use of wicked means to achieve wicked ends." The elder elf's arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

                "What would you have had me do, Solas?! You want me to turn them over to the enemy, so that we can fight them a second time? Maybe you didn't notice the number of _dead_ they left at our feet!" Whoops. Yelling now, wasn't he? "Or maybe I should just have the lot of them beheaded and call it a day! Is that what you want?" Solas' face set itself in a tight-lipped, unreadable glower, which for all the world just pissed Lavellan off more. Either he knew the Inquisitor was right and was refusing to admit it, or he legitimately believed the Wardens were better off possessed -- or worse, executed.

                R'ae threw up his hands, turning on heel to storm out. "You know what? Go dream in what's left of Lothering, and then come tell me we'd be better off without them." Solas huffed in furious silence, watching as the other elf slammed the door behind him.

************************************************************

                Cole had been so much easier to convince. Yes, the Wardens had hurt people, and a lot of them. Yes, they'd been ready to summon a demon army. But if the Inquisition wasn't there to watch them, who would stop them from hurting more people? They weren't able to lead themselves right now. They clearly hadn't been able to before, either. He still didn't like it, but Cole was able to accept that this was the easiest, most reliable way to ensure they would only help from now on, that they wouldn't hurt anyone else. Gods, why did Solas have to be so stubborn?

                What worried Lavellan most was the idea that in some way, he was right. Was he prepared to forgive any transgression, so long as it gained him allies against Corypheus? If circumstances had been different, he'd have sent what was left of the dishonoured order all the way back to Weisshaupt. Maybe the trek to the frigid waste of the Anderfels would clear their damned heads, and maybe Ferelden would get some sensible replacements in their stead. But that wasn't the way of things, was it? With an archdemon on the field -- whether or not this was a true Blight -- it was no time to be sending away the only people equipped to handle it.

                He was ~~brooding~~ ruminating in his quiet corner on the battlements, pitching stones down into the icy wastes when the Commander finally wandered over to sit beside him. Lavellan wondered absently if all that metal was as cold up here as it looked. It certainly seemed uncomfortable to try to sit in. How could he wear it all day?

                "Copper for your thoughts?" Cullen gave him a lopsided grin and a sidelong look. "Or maybe an ale, actually. Might be more likely to get you to talk." R'ae gave a halfhearted chuckle. He'd found the human liquor surprisingly enjoyable, if a bit like liquid bread. It was so different from anything the Dalish made.

                "You're a true sage, serah." He pitched another stone. "Did you know I'd never had ale before the Inquisition?"

                "Really? That's just a travesty. I was still hairless from the neck down when I joined the templars, and even I had my share before this." R'ae couldn't help but laugh out loud at that.

                "Cullen, you're blonde. You probably _still_ look hairless from the neck down."

                "Says you! At least I _have_ hair, choir boy." The next stone clinked harmlessly off the Commander's armour as he snickered. They'd used the communal baths back during their time at Haven, before the Inquisitor had gotten his official fancy chambers and Inquisitorial washing-space. He knew exactly what Cullen's body looked like, and hairless wasn't quite it. Not that he had noticed, really... why was he here again? _Quit perving on the straight guy, Lavellan_. Right.

                "So if I had to hazard a guess..."

                " Adamant. Yeah." _Buzzkill._

                "The Nightmare?" R'ae shook his head.

                "Not so much, actually. Sure it was a personalized slice of demon hell, but I already know what my demons look like, and thanks to Stroud we all made it out alive. And yeah, Stroud's death sucked." He rubbed his neck absently. "More than I expected it to, if you believe it. For all the people we've lost, and for a man I barely knew, I felt like a royal jackass for letting him stay behind. He was the one Warden I met who hadn't fallen prey to the completely mad idea of blood magic and demon consorts being a solid plan."

                "Okay." Cullen stayed quiet, waiting for Lavellan to fill the space.

                "It's... the rest of them. I don't regret my decision, but..." A heavy sigh fell from his lips. "I just don't know if it was the right one. I don't know if it will do more harm than good." His advisor surveyed his expression silently for a moment. Leather-clad fingers found the small stone that had bounced harmlessly off iron plate, and pitched it off the battlements to join its brethren.

                "In the absence of omniscience, I can only offer my perspective. If, of course, my leader wishes to hear it." R'ae rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but met Cullen's gaze.

                "Always, and without reservation. How am I to lead without it?"

                "You lead just fine without my input, and if you don't know that by now I'll have Josie give you a slap. _Ser_." The lopsided grin showed up again, before fading back into severity. "I think the choices you had to pick from were nugshit, and that is my honest opinion. In the end, you had to decide if Corypheus was a greater threat than the Wardens, and for what it's worth I think you made the right call. That said... I was stationed in Ferelden during the Blight." Lavellan was a bit concerned at how quickly colour faded from the Commander's face. "Whether or not we agree with what they did, I never want to see so few Grey Wardens again. It is easy to ignore or discredit them in times like these, but we cannot forget who they are or why they are here." Rich amber eyes gazed out unseeing through sturdy crenellations, and R'ae found himself wondering not for the first time what those eyes had seen before he'd known them.

                "I... Thank you, Commander. Cullen, I mean. Thanks." He ventured a smile as Cullen turned back to him, drawn into the present once more.

                "I don't envy you, Inquisitor, but I am glad you're here."

                "I'm just glad I don't have to do it alone."

                "Honestly, I'm surprised he's let you stay out so late," Cullen quipped. His grin wavered as Lavellan's ears flushed, eyes downcast. "Ah, that is... Maker, tell me Dorian isn't the reason you're second-guessing this."

                "No, no. Solas, actually. Ask anyone who was in the Great Hall at the time." _Dorian hasn't said two words to me since we got back, thanks._

                "I can't say I'm surprised. He didn't seem to take any of this very well."

                "Neither of us were at our most diplomatic, admittedly." Lavellan pinched the bridge of his nose in lingering frustration. "At least one of us is a stubborn ass, and I'm not going to say which." Cullen laughed out loud suddenly, one hand catching his weight as he threw his head back. R'ae couldn't help the startled look on his face, which only spurred the Commander on more.

                "Oh Maker," came the wheezing breath. "I'm so sorry. I just... I mean, I agree completely. At least _one_ of you is a stubborn ass. But I suspect that being an elf and an apostate makes demands of one's character if one is to live and thrive." His expression was respectful and even slightly repentant, though the occasional snicker still tried to escape, and Lavellan just didn't have it in him to chastise the man for his all-too-rare outburst. Varric was right; he really did need to smile more.

                "Mmm. And are all templars insubordinate curs?"

                "Not even slightly. Why do you suppose I left?" Cullen leaned forward, pushing himself to his feet. R'ae took the extended hand and stood to join him, and followed as the man began walking back to his office. "Look... Inquisitor. Solas has the luxury of considering his own interests and personal beliefs first. You would make a poor leader if you were to follow his example, but instead you put the safety of innocents and the fate of the world above all else. Don't let him fault you for that."

                Lavellan gave an appreciative grin. "If that's what my Commander suggests."

                "He also suggests you go to the tavern. It sounds like Iron Bull is going to drink us dry, and I don't want to see the way that ends."

**************************************************************

                R'ae tried to make a point of touching base with his closest companions on a regular basis, especially when things got rough; therefore, it shouldn't bother Dorian to watch him swing scaffolding into Bull's massive abdomen, right? After all, Dorian had been the one avoiding _him_. He'd earned it, too, with that little stunt at Adamant, sending them scurrying along ahead while he held back.

                The sick pitch of stones from under their feet had been haunting his dreams, the way the whole world had seemed to give out. The look on the Inquisitor's face -- _his_ Inquisitor's face -- as he lost any semblance of footing and began to plummet to the ground below. Dorian had actually run out onto the collapsing tower, as if there had been anything he could have done...

                He was mad enough at Lavellan for sending his people running on ahead, for forcing him to watch the elf fall to almost-certain death. He was downright furious at himself for being so utterly lost he'd risked his own life in futility. His body would be mangled and lifeless on the stone alongside his lover's, and for what? He'd gone and gotten himself besotted, overwhelmed and hopelessly sunk into the sparkling depths of those pale grey eyes, and it would be the death of him. Dorian Pavus had become just one more dimension of fool, hadn't he? He'd meant what he'd told the elf after their first tangle of lust and limbs -- that you didn't expect more, you didn't hope for more, that it was only ever physical -- but he was only now realizing just how many ways it would have protected him to stick to that lesson. It had cost him so much to learn it, after all.

                Bull fell to one knee as the Inquisitor threw the hefty beam to the side. They smiled. He gave the broad shoulder a friendly smack. Lavellan was strong, confident, attentive. He cared deeply for his people. After recovering from the loss of his clan, he'd given even more to the Inquisition than ever before. More to Dorian. He let the human set the pace in public, but in their chambers ( _his chambers, not ours!_ ) the elf wanted every inch of him. Every gasp, every cry, every snide remark and petulant protest and offered advance brought a smile or a laugh. Dorian had been a fool to succumb, to get comfortable. It wasn't safe.

                He was smitten with the man who stood at the centre of the whole southern continent. A man with powerful enemies and pernicious allies, whose decisions were reshaping the known world every day and whose hobbies had shown Dorian the detailed inside of a dragon's maw. He walked a dangerous path with unwavering steps, and these days the human found himself worrying less about his own untimely demise and more about watching the last flicker of life leave the proud storm that was Lavellan.

                Dorian was terrified. A small voice inside was telling him it was time to run.


	10. Too Early to the Emprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian halfheartedly tries to retrieve his personal space. It's unhelpful to distract the man trying to save the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still dissatisfied with this chapter, but I refuse to get mired down in any more edits and rewrites. 
> 
> Partly inspired by my tendency to run headlong into any new opportunity as soon as possible (as long as it's not plot). Paid a lot of power to get my butt handed to me in the Hissing Wastes before I ever made it to Halamshiral lol.

                It was barely a week after Adamant before the Inquisitor found himself needing to set out again. The Tevinter still joined him for occasional meals, still occupied the comfortable winged chair in the stacks that Lavellan had procured for him, and was still up for a couple sweaty romps when the keep finally retired, but by the end of that week the elf found himself extremely unsettled. He'd managed to get Dorian to confess his unhappiness over the whole affair, what it had been like to watch him fall at the fortress, but it hadn't really seemed to help.

                He hadn't slept one night in the Inquisitor's quarters since they'd been back. He also hadn't... not that it was a dealbreaker or anything, but... he had refused to let Lavellan penetrate him in any way. Neither man was a dedicated bottom, and it had taken a couple weeks before Dorian had let him top for the first time, but the human loved it. The elf loved it too, the way he completely succumbed, the way he shuddered, the way he came undone a bit more with every thrust, the warmth of being buried so deep inside... and now he was refusing to let so much as a finger past that tight little ring. Moreover, Dorian was becoming more aggressive, almost possessive as he ground them both into the mattress. He wasn't satisfied until R'ae was shaking beneath him, only to take his leave as soon as he'd recovered. The sex had become phenomenal but impersonal. Lavellan wasn't clear on what the hell was up, but he was pretty sure he wasn't happy about it.

                The look on Varric's face when they'd gotten word of the volume of red lyrium coming out of the Emprise du Lion had been pure, unadulterated loathing. Between that and the host of red templars apparently swarming the highlands, R'ae announced he would be leading the advance without argument from his advisors. He wanted the powerful Tevinter mage at his side when they breached the operation in no small part for how exceptionally dangerous he could be, though truthfully Lavellan had failed to learn how to leave him behind. Fortunately, Dorian had proven he could live through and conquer anything thrown at them. And if he could survive demons, undead, and Venatori at every turn, he could sure as hell 'fess up and help R'ae straighten this thing out.

**************************************************************************

                For the first time, the Inquisitor had his chosen party summoned to the war room for their assignment. Cassandra had seen this tableau many times before; she'd helped him lay it out, after all. He trusted her with his life, and her sword and shield would be loyal to the end. There was no leaving Varric out, even if he'd wanted to; he'd made a point of bringing the dwarf on any assignment that might see the destruction of the vile red stone. Dorian came at his summons, looking for all the world like just another soldier as he stood there, hands behind his back and eyes fixed on the broad table. Was it wise to have sent a messenger to bring the man? _Deal with it_. The human was the one who'd been putting the distance between them, after all. The runner should have been welcome.

                Lavellan doled out the assignment, the Baron's request for aid and some of the spymaster's intelligence reports laid out in front of them. A more detailed map of the area was still frustratingly vague; apparently Harding's people hadn't been able to push very far in due to the strength of the enemy. There were a couple key points and a general plan for covering ground, troop assignments for support and reinforcement as they advanced, and quick details on the weather and terrain.

                "Questions? Comments? Concerns?" Varric and Cassandra were satisfied, shaking their heads, ready to wrap it up.

                "I'll need new boots if I'm to be trudging through the icy wastes of hell for weeks on end." Dorian looked halfway between disinterested and bored, arms crossed over his chest, a small downturn to his mouth. His eyes were on the outlay before them. Lavellan gave a frustrated sigh, gesturing to the warrior and the archer.

                "Leave us." Dorian made to leave with them.

                "I suppose the quartermaster will have extra, hideous though they will be." R'ae's hand caught his arm, and Dorian tensed reflexively.

                "Oh no, you don't."

                The tension in the room could be cut with a knife as the large wooden door swung shut. Neither man said a word at first. Dorian pulled his arm away, and the elf didn't bother to resist. The ringing sounds of combat drill carried up on the wind, shuffling feet and dull blades on shields.

                "You know I hate the cold."

                "I'll get you new furs."

                "Vivienne is more practiced with ice."

                "And anything there will likely already be warded against her, thanks to the climate." Dorian's brow furrowed. He still was not meeting the Inquisitor's gaze.

                "Unless you have any other protests?" The human rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Lavellan slid one hand up to his chin, gently pulling his face around until he was forced to acknowledge him. "Unless you can think of another reason, I am not leaving this here for the next month. I told you, _vhenan_. I will never leave you behind again."

                Dorian's eyes softened, easing the pain in the elf's chest. He pulled the human in for a kiss, the promise heavy on his lips, and Dorian took it. It was slow, gentle, tender; a roll of warm breaths and a flicker of tongues. He let Lavellan's arms curl around him, sinking into the sinful joy of kissing one of the most powerful men in the world in the very heart of the Inquisition, and suspected that this was probably not sending the right message.

                "I'll have Josie send for some of the good Fereldan bear pelts," the elf whispered as he withdrew. "You'll never find robes warmer than those made with that stuff."

                "The natives of this frigid waste must have survived _somehow_ ," the human replied with a smirk.

**********************************************************************

                He had well and truly cocked up this time, but Dorian Pavus was not the sort of man to let that stop him. He'd grown quite fond of the elf, it was true, but that didn't mean he had to be a complete fool about it. It could never be a simple sexual tryst -- Maker knew he _still_ didn't want it to be -- but there was plenty of room between that and his current calf-eyed state. There merely needed to be a bit more space between he and Lavellan, and then it would get easier.

                Not that the bastard was helping at all. If anything, he seemed to be letting the easy parts go in favour of pointlessly confusing shit; take the night before they'd set out, for example. The Inquisitor had come to Dorian's chambers with his top half undone, no shoes and no smalls on, but instead of fucking he'd wanted to massage some (admittedly delectable) oils into every square inch of his flesh. It was fortunate Dorian had such grace and poise, for surely a lesser man would have looked downright shameful fleeing his own quarters. Especially when there was such an exceptionally arousing, half-naked elf still in them.

                He knew he'd sent the wrong message with that kiss.

                This would not last. This _could not_ last. He was not the only one likely to die before the end, and it would behoove him to remember that. He couldn't help his desire to be near R'ae, to cavort and carry on through the warmth of the lowland days as they headed to the Emprise, but he still stubbornly stuck to his own tent every night -- _alone_ , thank you very much. He tried to keep future kisses either quick and chaste or deep and passionate, and both types he tried to keep to a minimum. This latter endeavour was... meeting with less success than the former.

                The journey into the highlands was unpleasantly helpful. The sun was weak, the wind bit through his long furred cloak, and once it was clear they'd have to scale the mountainous terrain on foot he had all but decided to kill the Inquisitor himself. _Trudging_ did not become him.

*****************************************************************

                Great holy mandate or no, there was only so much snow-laden mountainside one elf could climb. The thick boots he wore felt strange on his toes. His legs ached from slogging through drifts and steadying himself on ice. The few Fereldan soldiers he'd brought were about the only ones keeping up morale right now, apparently unaffected as long as the sun stayed up and the wind stayed low. Lavellan hadn't dared to risk a look at Dorian since they'd started their upward climb; the human really did loathe the cold, and it was the Inquisitor's fault he was here.

                _I should have left him at Skyhold._ It had seemed such a good idea at the time, not leaving _whatever_ this was to stew for weeks on end before they could address it, but in hindsight this may not have been the way to endear the mage to him. Of course, red templars shouldn't have been either. What the hell kind of relationship was this, anyway? They'd taken down three groups of the bastards as they wound their way through the mining roads, and those were just the beginning.

                The sun was growing lower in the sky all the time. They had a scant couple hours to find and stabilize a safe campsite -- without having entirely cleared out the enemy -- or they would have to turn now and backtrack down the hill to the last camp, only to repeat the climb again in the morning. Lavellan stopped entirely, body stiffening in protest at the very thought. If he could just get warm... He waved Cassandra over, calling a halt to their march.

                "We've got to find somewhere to hole up before nightfall." The warrior's brow furrowed in disapproval.

                "These hills are crawling with the enemy," she replied. "I don't know what sleep you mean to take here, but it would be minimal at best and fatal at worst."

                "I know. I had rather hoped we could have pressed into something a bit more certain, but it doesn't look like we're going to get it. Besides, to head back now it'd be dark before we got down the hill, and I don't exactly fancy the idea of scaling these rocks without any light."

                "We will need to find somewhere sheltered enough to have a fire without being seen." Lavellan nodded slowly in agreement.

                "You know, the last templar camp..."

                "Are you mad??"

                "Look, I'd be glad to look about a bit first, but until we take Suledin it's the only place I can think of."

                "Then we shall have that look, Inquisitor." The Seeker stalked ahead, unimpressed.

                When they found a modest, well-sheltered nook twenty minutes later, Lavellan was forced to wonder if the earth had remade itself under the sheer weight of Cassandra's will. A blinding firestorm whipped out from Dorian, startling everyone nearby, licking away the swirls of snow that lay within. He hadn't spoken since their last battle, and the look on his face was clear warning for anyone with eyes to see it: _Just try me_. Unless it would make him less tired, cold, or sore, he wasn't about to entertain commentary of any kind, and his companions gave him wide berth as they began to clear the space and set up camp.

                The Inquisitor was torn, but his duty came first. A modified tent skin would stand as a barrier against the light of their campfire and the icy wind that was sure to pick up as night fell. Bedrolls went down, foodstuffs came out, and low voices warmed themselves around the welcome flicker of flames. Varric pulled off his boots to wiggle his toes to life again. Lavellan assigned watch rotations and saw to the safety of their setup before pulling out his own rations. There was one _tiny_ problem, what with one tent skin being used as a windbreak...

                "Someone's going to have to share a tent." R'ae looked to Dorian, and Dorian looked pointedly at Varric.

                "Ohhh no. I'm not getting in the middle of that. I'd rather shack up with the Seeker." Cassandra scoffed, looking for all the world like she was about to bring up every bite she'd eaten.

                "You can't be serious," came the Nevarran drawl.

                "Do I look like I'm joking? That said, if you'd rather bunk in with one of them..." The warrior looked at the two mages, who were now studiously looking away from each other; the Tevinter surly, the elf peevish.

                "I... You had best not cuddle, dwarf."

**********************************************************************

                The morning came early and bleak. The fire and bedroll had been a welcome change from the previous day's walk, but the winter chill was up and waiting for them as they rose. It settled deep in Lavellan's bones within minutes, and it occurred to him that perhaps heading back down to a proper camp for the night may not have been the worst idea. He instructed the few troops they'd brought up with them to return and gather enough to advance; they were to help set up and fortify the templar camp they'd cleared out the day before.

                Dorian, by contrast, seemed far more amiable -- dare he say charitable -- after a much-needed rest. He was joking and preening, even letting his hand trail across Lavellan's lower back with a clandestine look of apology. _Mixed messages, much?_ R'ae found himself trying to be angry with the man, but he was still simply too tired. The Blight take this glacial waste. This wasn't like the Graves or the Hinterlands. Here in the Emprise, his first concern had to be finding decently safe places where they could rest and rise warm and in one piece, red templars be damned. He would deal with his lover -- and the enemy -- only once they could reliably mitigate the risk of freezing to death.

                So, naturally, there was a huge rift blocking the only viable path for miles. Varric's eyebrows nearly lifted off his face at the litany of curses that broke from the Inquisitor's mouth.

                "This one special, big guy?" Bianca clicked in approval as she readied a bolt.

                "Aren't they all." Fucking demons. _Fucking Fade!_ The blade of his staff speared the snow as he brought up a barrier to envelop his people. "Let's see it done!"

                The formation was practiced and familiar. Cassandra slid into stance, raising her shield and choosing her footing as she charged into a newly-spawned demon. Lavellan flanked right, Dorian back and left, and Varric stayed at a safe distance, free to circle as he picked his opportunities.

                The fight was mostly clean, though hard-won. The two mages managed to mitigate the bulk of the damage, R'ae ahead with the warrior and Dorian falling behind with the archer, but they still managed to chew through more of their bottled health than the Inquisitor would have liked. He'd rent the last bits of flesh from a Despair demon himself in his frustration, thinking it horribly unfair that his fur-lined cloak didn't do a damn thing against its chill. Finally -- _finally_ \-- the rift wavered with the first hints of true vulnerability, and the Anchor rose to meet it.

                Lavellan sometimes wondered if he would ever get used to the apprehension, that sinking feeling in his gut when he first made contact with a rift. It was like jumping from a great height, only for your stomach to realize just how far away the ground is as it tries to escape out your throat. Unlike the Breach, these comparably small rifts were quite steady. In order to seal one, he first had to reach for the edges and tear them from where they had hooked into the material realm; in effect, he had to destabilize them before they could close. It wasn't difficult -- they knew the command of his mark, to be sure -- but it sure as hell took his undivided attention.

                Creators be damned, but it was hard to focus with all that screaming.

                In retrospect, it was bound to happen eventually. The Inquisitor wasn't the only one who had let his guard down, though he was certainly the only one taking his blame. Long lines of green wound him into the rift, pulling at his insides, keeping him vulnerable and useless as soon as he'd steadied the connection. Cassandra had three blades suddenly: one in her hand, one in her shoulder, and one in her back. The pain was trying to free itself through her mouth, judging by the sound. Varric was hollering, his bolts so plentiful it seemed to be raining, sinking into the two rogues who had materialized next to her. And Dorian...

                Lavellan's eyes lit upon the Tevinter, watching practiced hands weave patterns through the Veil. He watched those hands falter, dropping their staff to the snow, pulling straight out and back as if on strings. He watched as the man's head snapped back, legs thrashing in futility, mouth open in protest. He heard the strangled shriek, a noise he never thought that beautiful throat could produce, cut off suddenly in a torrent of its own blood. Unhealed wounds flowed anew, a fresh wash of crimson over wet, soiled robes, adding to the coppery tang of forbidden magic in the air. The Inquisitor strained and tore against his ephemeral green tether, helpless, useless. Watching was all he could do as the scion of House Pavus crumpled lifelessly to the ground.


	11. Figuring it Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan knows his priorities, and is so done with this shit.   
> Second half of the faulty chapter.

                The snap of the closing rift pushed back down his arm, and Lavellan was alive again. The world around him swam, his vision narrowed to a blooming scarlet on white, the colour of ripe strawberries under the summer sun. Dorian looked good in red. Each step took too long. He was too far. The snow crunched around his knees as he dropped -- had he really managed to cover the distance? -- to gather the mage in his arms. Whatever it was, whatever he'd done, he was sorry. If the Nightmare was right, if Dorian had seen through him, he was sorry. He could change! He would change, he would step down, he would research or train or cook, anything else...

                Blood bubbled pathetically at the human's paling lips, a mockery of breath, but it was enough. He wasn't dead, and the truth was nearly as earth-shattering as the fear. His mind cast frantically about for Commander Helaine's instructions... she had been trying to teach him for months now, if he would only stay in Skyhold long enough to master the damn spell!

                _"It is less about commanding your people as it is about surrendering yourself to them. ... No, stop that, be still and listen! You cannot force a body to live and heal and be whole any more than you can force the sun to rise. Stop trying to command an injury, it will not obey!"_

Cassandra lunged through his peripheral vision, bloodied and enraged, tackling an approaching foe he hadn't bothered to heed.

                _"You can craft the spell within the fabric of the Veil and fuel it with Fade and willpower, but without_ substance _it is nothing. Life can only be shaped from life. Shape your will until it is a perfect transcription of life, then -- and only then -- can you unleash it to staggering effect."_

                Finally, with the centre of his world dying in his arms, Lavellan knew where he could find that shape. He knew what he needed to surrender. He would give his life for Dorian's in a heartbeat, and thanks to his training, he could.

                Curling magic through his flesh was second nature, but he pushed it deeper this time. It traced the pathways of his beating heart, flooded every tissue, mapped every impulse in his brain, and still he pushed. He willed it into everything that made him whole, driving it past every limit he thought he had until it hit unseen walls and began to collect.

                "Seeker!" Varric's fear cut through the air as the warrior went down in an unconscious heap. Leather-bound foes turned to advance on the archer. "Inquisitor!"

                R'ae lifted his free hand to cup Dorian's cheek. His head was so heavy. It was getting hard to see with all this water in his eyes.

                " _Inquisitor!!_ "

**********************************************************************

                The highland air was jarring in Dorian's lungs, but he sucked it back greedily. His back arched against the strange sensation of his own blood filling his body, tracing down his legs and into his fingertips, hot and electric. What the hell? His eyes refocused and he found himself curled protectively in the Inquisitor's lap, the face above looking almost alien. The elf's eyes were made of the purest white light. He was muttering, almost chanting, and with every word a new piece of Dorian was reformed. Old blade wounds across his abdomen knit themselves into nothingness. The chill in his limbs was driven out by the force of his own blood, of his own life force pulsing out from his core. Even the smart in his ankle from where he'd twisted it earlier in the day faded into a happy oblivion.

                Beyond them, Cassandra stood tall. Her face was mask of anger and righteous purpose, even as the gash along her forehead closed and her nose righted itself. _The lady certainly has her priorities straight_ , Dorian mused. He was lightheaded, almost giddy, but there were enemies about -- he could hear Varric's delighted whooping in the background -- and his help would be needed. Sitting up would be a fantastic start.

                The shift in his weight made Lavellan clamp down hard, pulling his somewhat larger form in as tight as he could. He spat the words of his spell through gritted teeth, picking up the pace. Curls of light were emanating from him to fall in a faint shimmer over the battlefield, binding their party together. What the hell kind of magic was this? There had certainly been enough blood around for that kind of power, but he knew very well blood magic couldn't heal, and he felt... incredible. Better than he had in months.

                "Amatus?" Dorian reached cautiously for his lover's face, and the spell was ended under the brush of his fingertips. Lavellan blinked down into his eyes, shock wholly encompassing his delicate features.

                "... Dorian?" Elven hands skated across his face, his neck, his bloodied chin. A couple tears escaped, tiny splashes on his robes before R'ae could catch himself. His breath flew out in a long _whoosh_ , eyes closing in relief. "Dorian."

                Before the human had a chance to demand an explanation, something changed on Lavellan's face. He pulled his lover into a furious kiss, breathing him in as if his very life depended on it. A growl choked off in his throat, and Dorian was suddenly alone in the snow. The riot of red that covered them both stopped his words dead. So it was his blood, then. _Well, shit_.

****************************************************************

                Dorian was alive. They were both alive? Holy shit. Could Helaine ever know how grateful he was? The name was like a prayer, a mantra repeated in his frantic heart. _Dorian. Dorian lives. Dorian is safe_. His body wanted to vomit with relief.

 _... Compose yourself, Lavellan._ Now was not the time. Relief and gratitude could wait. Right now, someone was going to pay for this.

**************************************************************

                The Inquisitor looked down, his face wounded, torn, distant. Angry. He freed the clasp at his neck, letting the long cloak fall free. His left boot went, followed by his right, and the mage had to look twice to see the dark straps of a boot sheath around his calf. With a last sad little smile for the man on the ground, he turned and began to sprint into the thick of the fight, ethereal gossamer shivering with his approach.

                If the enemy had initially thought their ambush wise, they were rethinking it now. The whole team was in perfect shape, all tiredness lifted from their limbs, aches and pains and wounds but a memory. Every blow that found its mark began to heal the second it landed, pulling on the web of light that emanated from the Inquisitor. Varric had brought out a cartridge of exploding bolts, and was pinning down a mage on the far side of the field as Cassandra danced with the melee skirmishers, trying to keep their focus off the archer.

                Lavellan fell on them like a storm. A crack of lighting chased its way through their foes, immobilizing those nearest to him. Dorian began to weave a wall of fire to fry them where they stood, only to see a glint of metal rend flesh in a vicious spray.

                The Inquisitor, a powerful mage, had just forsaken casting to slit the man's throat by his own hand.

                He flew into the second target as she started to regain function in her limbs. Her own dagger went up through the soft flesh of her chin, and tore loose with her jaw. His staff swung until the tip met her belly, and a gout of fire fed the wordless, bloodcurdling shriek. Cassandra was taken aback, a blow to her shoulder from the remaining warrior redrawing her focus.

                Lavellan left the warrior and the crippled rogue to her, sprinting free over the snow as he finally caught sight of the mage. The bladed tip of his staff glowed gold, appearing to extend under his will, and he swung it hard into the enemy's knees. Dorian summoned a luminous pattern in the snow, blowing the blood mage off his feet in a torrent of fire, and the Inquisitor... discarded his staff?

                Twin blades glistened in his hands now, one from the injured rogue and the other (he suspected) from the boot sheath. He dropped to his knees over the enemy's chest. Agony rent the air as the blood mage's palms were split, daggers pinning them to the ground, preventing him from casting. Dorian didn't like the look of this.

                "Inquisitor!" He began to jog toward the prone figure writhing on the ground. Lavellan paid him no mind. A third blade was produced from inside his sleeve, slender and deadly. He leaned in, whispering to his prey before covering his eyes with one hand. "Inquisitor?" A fine red line appeared along the enemy's neck, flesh parting with ease.

                The mage was crying out, babbling and frantic, unable to see, unable to pull away. The tip of Lavellan's last blade sunk deep into his open mouth as he pleaded for his life. The noise was transformed into something strangled and inhuman, wholly reactionary, all chest and no tongue. The elf gave one rough twist. His quarry's whole body jerked, legs spasming violently before finally lying still.

                Dorian stopped where he stood, remarking suddenly that the field had grown very quiet. Cassandra and Varric had clearly dispatched their last two opponents. Lavellan stood, not even sparing a kick for the gurgling body in the snow as he turned to make for his boots and cloak. He didn't look over at Dorian, who was decidedly stuck between dumbfounded and deeply unsettled.

                "Come on, Sparkler." Varric waved him over. "Let's get you cleaned up."

********************************************************************

                R'ae's feet were just on the painful side of numb, but there was no way he could have moved in those heavy winter boots. He'd been in his mid-twenties before he'd worn human-made footwear for the first time, and had still never worn anything as cumbersome as these. It had been worth losing them to get his dexterity back. It was _now_ worth it to put them back on and prevent his toes from falling off. His cloak settled over his shoulders last, and he tried to pull it tight as he walked the battlefield. He would not look at his companions. Not until his work was done.

                There were plenty of blades on the skirmishers who had attacked them. He only needed two. Simple as they may be, he would not leave his own behind. He noted how still the Venatori mage had become as he approached, daggers in hand. The thick, sticky pool around him was melting a bit of the snow.

                Lavellan withdrew his boot knife first from the mage's palm, replacing it with one he'd scavenged. A trickle of blood was still seeping from the wound; the heart hadn't given up yet. He wiped his blade quickly on the enemy's robes before sheathing it. They would both need tending after this. How long had it been since he'd used his knives? Since before Skyhold, anyway. He marvelled at the integrity of his wrist blade as he hauled it out of the mage's mouth, causing the feet and arms to twitch. The little thing had served him well in the past. Thank the gods he kept it sharp; he had been worried it would break when he tried to drive it into the head of the spine. Maybe he'd been lucky and managed to catch the space between vertebrae. He had to try twice to get the spare dagger back in its place, causing another violent, unconscious jerk as he did; definitely intervertebral space. The wrist blade also got a couple gentle wipes to get the worst of the blood off before he gently replaced it, refastening its clasp.

                _Am I a bad man for wanting to drop an army on this mountain?_ He still didn't want to look at his people, but the deed was done and they needed to keep moving. He didn't need to see the looks on their faces to know what they would be. Disappointed. Disgusted. Surprised at the capacity for cruelty that lay beneath, maybe. _Well too damn bad_. This was a message that needed to be sent. R'ae had no idea what he'd done to drive Dorian away, but it didn't matter. The enemy would see his wroth, and gods willing, some of them would think twice before making this mistake again. The human would live so long as he drew breath, even if they lived apart.

                Halfway back to his waiting team, it occurred to him. How would anyone ever know who had done this in the first place? Or why? This wasn't his territory. He should leave a mark; the symbol of the Inquisition, at least. It wouldn't be the first time he'd branded someone, though he'd never done it while they still bled. Maybe the mage was sufficiently dead by now. He couldn't have much left. Lavellan fingered his wrist sheath idly, looking back at his simple work.

                "Come on, boss. Let's keep moving." Varric's voice was low and steady. It was almost soothing, causing R'ae to notice just how tightly wound he still was. "Sparkler needs somewhere to change." He wanted to protest, Creators, he did, but the archer had closed the distance. Gently, he moved the elf's hand away from his wrist and started to lead him back. Lavellan couldn't stand the look on his face, the very image of sympathy and understanding.

                "Don't lie to me." He hadn't meant for the words to come out, but they did all the same.

                "Never again." His shrug was simple, his face unchanging. He didn't seem fazed by the chill tone.             

                "I should... Varric, I need to -- " He looked back again.

                "You need to keep walking, boss. He's safe. We all are, thanks to you. We'll head back to restock, and we'll send for reinforcements. Forgive my saying so, but maybe we shouldn't have sent them away in the first place." He quirked a smile up at the elf, and got a ghost of approval in return.

                "Maybe not."

                "Are you alright, Inquisitor?" Cassandra's voice sounded legitimately concerned, kindly even. He looked reflexively at Dorian, eyebrows arched in surprise, before averting his gaze again. _Would've made a shit spy, Lavellan_.

                "Me? You could've died. _I'm_ fine, better than -- " Two brown leather gloves took his hands, spattered in blood. He was vaguely aware of Varric withdrawing to walk away. He would not look up. Hell, he didn't even know what he would see! Would Dorian even want to look at him? Would he kiss him? Would he slap him? How the hell was R'ae supposed to know what was even acceptable these days? He just tore someone's jaw off, for crying out loud. Did that not earn him at least a brief reprieve from the confusing personal shit?

                One arm circled around his back. Dorian pulled himself in close, leaning Lavellan's head in to his neck with the other. The elf stayed stiff and uncertain as he murmured quietly in Tevene, stroking his dishevelled hair, leaving the briefest touch of lips on his cheek. The smell of blood was all-encompassing, a sharp metallic taste on his tongue and at the back of his throat, but underneath the stink of blood and sweat was his home. Cinnamon and musk and some dark, rich wooded scent mingled into the heady blend that was pure Dorian, and it hit him in the gut.

                Lavellan tucked his head in to the man's neck, breathing deeply. He let the tension run out of body in one long shudder, wrapping his own arms around his lover's waist. He loved the sensation of Dorian's fingers in his hair, the way his moustache tickled as he spoke and kissed. He could listen to that voice forever. Maybe he'd make the man read something to him when they finally got back and had the time to lounge... if they could only find their way back.

                R'ae withdrew with a sigh. It finally occurred to him that the archer had pulled Cassandra away. The two were standing far down the path from whence they'd come, bickering over something by the look of it.

                "Look at me, amatus." Could he not, perhaps? This was confusing enough as it was.

                "We should get moving. Varric's right. We need to reorganize, get troops, make sure we can secure a forward camp..."

                Dorian was having none of it. He curled one hand around the back of R'ae's head and pulled him into a kiss. Lips which had lain lifeless and cold, lips he'd thought he'd lost forever. What could an elf do but kiss back? He was sure his need was seeping through -- the wracking fear and torment he'd suffered, the last edges of a vengeance he couldn't have, the overwhelming relief when those golden eyes had looked back up into his own -- but he didn't care. Dorian was alive. The two men crushed themselves into each other, soft lips and demanding tongues.

                When they finally parted for breath, Lavellan's eyes were glistening. He ran a thumb over one of those perfect cheekbones, steadying himself before he spoke.

                "I would have died for you." It was an admission of guilt more than anything. Dorian gave a gentle shake of his head.

                "I don't want you to die for me, amatus. I would rather have you live."

********************************************************************

                It was relatively easy heading back toward the lower camp. The party met with an advance group heading up to fortify a higher position, and were given the instruction to take no undue risk. Lavellan was finally tired of death. He stayed close to the Tevinter, though not quite close enough to touch. He also stayed silent, and the others allowed it.

                There was still no sign of levity in the elf by the time they were retiring for the night. The walk had been unsettling for Dorian, even if for no one else. R'ae was too quiet, too reserved. He had no comments, no touches, not so much as a secret look for the human he'd stolen from death just a few hours earlier. It wasn't like him, and it left Dorian confused and unhappy. Something had broken, but he didn't know what. Perhaps tomorrow he would admit that maybe (just maybe) this wasn't entirely what he wanted. He'd almost died under some nameless venatori's blood magic today. The fact that he may have finally succeeded in putting distance between he and his elf tasted bitter and hollow beside it. 

                He found himself in the Inquisitor's tent again come nightfall, the two men curling half-naked into each other amidst the thick bedding. _Just for this one night, of course_. _It's just reassurance. Nothing more_. Their fearless leader needed to be at the top of his game, after all. Besides, even without the day's trials, he knew R'ae never slept well when he was cold. On second thought... perhaps this was for the best until they were back out of the Emprise. It would be for the good of the Inquisition, he decided, and let it never be said that Dorian Pavus would not step up to his duty. He selflessly snuggled deeper into his stubborn Dalish. And if it was the best sleep he'd had since Adamant, well... only the two of them were around to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Resurgence! Damnable lack of proper healing magic. *grumble* *grumble*


	12. Unwinding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs a break now and then. Pity Cullen never can seem to catch one.

                It had occurred to Lavellan that gambling against Iron Bull and Leliana would be a terrible idea, but he'd done it anyway. The camaraderie was a balm for the soul. It had _not_ occurred to him that Josephine would be the worst of the lot. It made sense, mind; as a diplomat, she needed not only to hide her true emotions but to be perfectly convincing in whichever mask she chose to wear. The growing, ever-tidy pile of coin at her elbow spoke well of her talents.

                Cassandra, on the other hand, was giving Cullen a run for his coin at the losing end of the table. Her brow furrowed as she tossed her cards down in disgust.

                "You're never going to win if you don't learn how to bluff, Seeker," Varric chastised. His grin implied that he was not entirely disappointed by the idea.

                "It is a foolish risk. Why would I wager more when I clearly have less? If _you_ would deal me better cards, then perhaps I would stand a chance." She took a deep swallow of her drink. Until a couple months ago, Lavellan would have been shocked to see her turn down ale in favour of a light summer wine. Now, it was just another nuance in the puzzle of Cassandra Pentaghast.

                "Cards have little to do with winning, my lady," Blackwall murmured, pushing three more silver to the middle of the table.

                "Says you. Cards are the only thing saving your hairy ass." Bull chuckled as he tossed his coin in, leaning back slightly in his chair.

                "Or the only thing saving us from it." Josephine had the good grace to dip her eyes instead of laughing outright with most of the table, smiling into her wine at Cullen's quip. "Do you still play against Solas, by the way?" Blackwall scowled.

                "Keep talking, pretty boy. It just makes taking your coin all the sweeter." He rose to refill his tankard, pointedly not offering to do the same for the blonde.

                "You thought he must pity you, but he doesn't. He thinks you quite bold, putting your bits in a bucket before bolting." Cole didn't even bother looking up, turning his cards about in his hand as the larger man stared daggers through his very fine hat.

                When Varric had extended Lavellan an invitation to Wicked Grace, it had been purely social. Talk of work and egomaniacal darkspawn were explicitly forbidden. The table had swung between delight and modest embarrassment when the elf had their staff send up a full keg of Valenta's Red, an ale brewed true in Orzammar, and a series of wines and liquors from his own collection. What was the point of having all that power and booze if he had no one to share it with?

                Josephine had gone straight for a full-bodied Antivan red. Leliana, much to Lavellan's surprise, was already on her third mug of the thick dwarven brew. "I haven't had ale this good in ten years, Inquisitor," she'd told him with a smile. "Rather ruined me for the Fereldan stuff." Sweetmeats, cheeses and biscuits, and delightful baked _things_ had been brought up from the kitchens, ostensibly to help them endure the alcohol. The Inquisitor suspected it had just as much to do with the staff not wanting to be bothered in the wee hours by their boss and his drunk friends when they finally got hungry.

                The banter had kept the focus off Dorian, until he managed to win the round (and a string of curses from Blackwall). "Hardly my fault," he replied with a smug grin. "Blame the dealer." Cups were filled as the cards were shuffled, and it seemed to Lavellan that he hadn't seen his people this happy in... well, in a long time. Certainly not all at once. He had to wonder how many nights like these they could have had if they'd been less wrapped up in the end of the world. With a smile, he realized they were not out of nights quite yet.

******************************************************************

                The table got messier as the night wore on. Varric was regaling them all with tales of his years in Kirkwall -- before the whole damn city had gone to hell, of course. This particular tale was bringing a blush to Cullen's cheeks, likely due in no small part to having met its saucy pirate protagonist. Lavellan found himself actually feeling bad for the poor prince-turned-Chantry-boy; it didn't sound like his vows had stood a chance. And what a place to leave someone's pants! He was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes.

                Cassandra was the first to bow out, swaying only slightly in her seat as she watched the successive hands. She, of course, had empathized with the story's prince. Dorian not-so-secretly suspected the saucy pirate was supposed to be him. Cole had taken to lapping at his exceptionally sweet drink like a cat (or was doing his level best, anyway). Bull was actually becoming less lewd, his good nature showing through the cracks. Cullen threw down his cards in frustration as Josephine politely gathered and stacked her most recent winnings, causing even Leliana to shake her head.

                "Come on, Curly. You can't bow out yet." Varric's grin was pure mischief.

                "Bow out? I should never have bowed _in_ , if that is even a thing. Besides, I'm out of coin. Nothing left to bet with." He gestured to the bare table in front of him and Blackwall cocked an eyebrow, laughing into his drink. Cullen went red to the tips of his ears. "Ohhhh no."

                "What? Not man enough?" Blackwall's dark eyes were glittering with anticipation.

                "Just once! Just enough to win back your dignity, and then you can step back and call it a night. How about it, Curly?" Varric was trying his damnedest not to burst with laughter, but Cullen wasn't having it.

                "My _dignity_ is all I have left, thank you, Master Dwarf." He stood, pushing back his chair a touch unsteadily. Josephine's hand flew to her mouth.

                "My dear Commander, I didn't realize just how bad this loss would be for you. I am _so_ sorry, I meant no offence. Please, here, take some of it back." She slid a tidy sum toward him, her face a perfect mask of empathy and shame.

                "I -- what -- no! You won, fair and square. It's yours." She shook her head, eyes downcast, and the trap was set.

                "I couldn't possibly, Commander. I did not know my victory would dishonour you so." His nostrils flared. He ran his hands through his hair once, twice, and muttering under his breath, he retook his seat.

                "Well, if that's the way we're playing..." Lavellan exchanged a glance with Dorian, and with a wicked grin undid the top clasp of his tunic.

                Dorian loosened one of the top buckles of his robes, meeting his grin. "I'm in."

                Bull's bellowing laughter shook the table as Blackwall choked on his ale, and Cullen hung his head in his hands. Varric merely chuckled to himself as the ambassador dealt the next round.

********************************************************************

                Lavellan and Dorian had both conceded defeat before being less-than-forced to disrobe. They sat propped together, the elf curled into the Tevinter's shoulder as the latter handfed him sweetmeats. He savoured the melting sugar on his tongue as Cullen dejectedly threw in his last hand. Leliana had withdrawn to her chambers not long ago. Blackwall and Iron Bull had both quit the game, though they were still drinking and sharing stories with Varric as they, too, watched the travesty finally draw to a close. Poor Cole was all but enthralled with the naked man across from him.

                "It comes off! I didn't know it came off!" R'ae felt Dorian chuckle against him, and nuzzled into his neck.

                "Watch yourself, Commander. I daresay he may try to verify it." The Tevinter grinned devilishly.

                "Should I?" One finger flew to his lips as the boy debated. Varric nearly lost a mouthful of ale.

                "Definitely not, kid. Don't listen to the scary mage. He's a bad influence."

                "I resent that remark."

                "Or you resemble it," Lavellan teased. Dorian gave him a gentle shove, and he stretched to right himself in his seat.

                "I think this is where I take my leave. I have seen _quite_ enough for one evening," chuckled the Seeker. To her credit, Cassandra had managed to level herself out well, and when she stood to go she was steady on her feet. She waved her goodnight with a crooked smile. The rest of their merry band of misfits slowly trailed out, some more inebriated than others, handshakes and pats on the back as each made their way. Iron Bull pulled a half-conscious Sera out from under the table, carrying her unceremoniously against one shoulder. Blackwall offered to walk Josephine back to her chambers, in spite of being much further in his cups than she. Lavellan grinned to himself at her graceful acceptance. Dorian teasingly draped his hand over the elf's eyes as Cullen made to go, earning him a good-natured swat and a knowing smirk.

                R'ae finally extricated himself from his lover with a quick kiss, and wandered over to meet Varric by the fire.

                "I'm glad you decided to join us tonight." The flickering warmth on the dwarf's face made him look almost content; a look the elf hadn't seen on him in months.

                "Varric, I wouldn't have missed it for anything. I just hope Corypheus doesn't pick sunrise tomorrow to attack."

                " _Ha!_ Worst morning-after ever. And that takes some doing." His broad shoulders rolled in amusement. "In all sincerity though, it's too easy to mistake you for the Inquisitor."

                "You know I _am_ the Inquisitor, right?"

                "See? Even you fall for it sometimes. The world as we know it has put you on a pedestal, treats you like a symbol, a... an icon. It's too easy to fall for the show, even for your friends. Even for me. And trust me, being a nameless hero is not good for your health." Lavellan rested a hand on Varric's shoulder with a smirk.

                "You have no idea just how good for my health this was. Actually, speaking of being nameless..." A thought flashed up in the background. Silly thing, really, but... "I have to ask. How come I didn't get a nickname?"

                Deep, sincere belly laughs were coming easy to the archer tonight. "You did, boss."

                "Yeah, but that's not your nickname for me. You stole that from Bull."

                "Okay, okay." He raised his broad hands in admission. "I admit it, you're a tough nut to crack. You have one you wanted?" Without waiting for input, he gave the elf a quick once-over with his eyes. "How about Slim?"

                "Gods, no." Lavellan gave him a teasing shove.

                "Hmmm.... Goliath?" The elf raised an eyebrow at that.

                "I look like a Goliath to you?"

                "It was the name of Hawke's mabari. And you _do_ kinda remind me of him sometimes..."

                " _Definitely_ not. I thought you were good at this." Varric snorted.

                "There's only so much I can do with the source material, pal. How about Captain Tight Pants?" Lavellan's eyes grew wide in indignation. Varric dodged a lazy cuff aimed at his head. "So that's a no?"

                "You know what, I think I like 'boss'. Let's stick with that."

                "Whatever you say, boss. Now get a move on, would ya? Your magister is letting all the cold air in." Dorian huffed from the doorway. There was a tidy heap of snacks on the platter in his hand, and no fewer than three bottles tucked in amongst his person.

                "Can't say I disagree. You two hens are causing me to sober up, and it's rather off-putting." R'ae flashed him a quick wink and a salacious grin: _Promise it'll be worth your while_.

                "Ok, gross. Go on. Get out."

                "We're as good as gone. And Varric?" The dwarf raised an eyebrow. "Thanks."

                "My pleasure. Once this is all over, you want in on another?"

                "I wouldn't miss it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this made me giggle. I loved Wicked Grace night, and the boys really needed a break. 
> 
> And yes, for those of you thinking it, I am totally a browncoat.


	13. Aftercare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of self-indulgent post-coital mushy stuff. <3

                Dextrous fingers pulled at catches in soft Orlesian rope, letting their amber-skinned captive fall gently to his side against the pillows. The silken blindfold was untied and unwound, and though it fluttered idly to the mattress, his eyes still chose not to open. His breath had finally begun to slow and was now coming deep and steady. Every muscle had given up, lax in surrender. Gentle touches were ghosting over his forearms where they lay folded behind his back. He was rolled ever so slightly forward, giving the elf room to loosen the knots binding them together, relieving the pressure in small increments. A whispered moan rolled in his chest at the sensation. He had all the time in the world to let his amatus tend to him.

                Rope fell into a puddle on the ground. His arms were unfolded and brought in front of him, though R'ae had to coax him to let the lower slide under his body. His weight did not want to move. Now curled in front of him as they were, he realized his shoulders and upper arms bore a strained, delicious soreness... mmm. Tiny flexions of the muscle heightened the sensation just a bit, and he revelled in the distant pleasure.

                The long loops of rope around his legs, ones which had previously cinched them toward the head of the bed, were pulled free and discarded with a couple quick tugs. Once their anchor had been undone, they became a simple job. He felt himself curl slightly inward as he nuzzled into the pillows. The smell was incredible.

                "Still with me, _vhenan_?" R'ae's voice was soft, soothing, the words a series of melodic undertones that made Dorian smile into the bed. He gave a tiny nod, humming his assent. The elf shifted until the dip in the mattress was behind the human's back, one warm leg tented over his liquid frame. Two hands found one of his upper arms and started to rub. Wordless sounds began to spill from Dorian's lips with each push of thumbs down muscle, tender encouragements for heat and circulation to do their thing. R'ae began to sing faintly as he worked, a slow, airy tune, and the human let himself float in the sound. Steady hands worked from shoulder to fingertips, lips kissing pink lines where their lover had strained against his bonds. Dorian's head rolled back toward the elf's knee at his own hand was massaged, thumbs spreading into his palm, his fingers rolling outward. His heavy-lidded eyes finally slid open with a groan. R'ae swept his curtain of silver hair to the side as he descended to kiss the man's forehead.

                "Don't get too comfortable. I'm going to need you to roll over here in a minute." Dorian gave a petulant whine, making a token effort to pull his hand away as he curled back in on himself. Lavellan couldn't help but chuckle. "I can't rub your other arm from here, handsome. You want me to keep rubbing, don't you?" He stretched out his perched leg, putting a hand on his lover's shoulder and pulling him gently back toward the mattress. The man finally caved with only modest protest, and R'ae's breath hissed as he saw the mess that was Dorian's torso. His nipples were speckled red and ringed with bite marks. The whitish slick of semen still covered glowing patches where the wax had burned. His cock twitched slightly as he remembered how the man had cried out, writhing against it even as he'd jerked up for more, the human's own member practically dripping with want. He'd torn the dried puddles from hyper-sensitized skin, stroking himself harder at the clench of Dorian's jaw, wanting so badly to watch him buck as he spilled all over that bright red flesh...

                Lavellan took a few deep breaths, his gaze full of adoration for his lover. "Yes, yes. You're so put-upon." He let two fingers trail down the man's side as he rolled obediently to face him.

                "Damn right," came the slurred reply. Dorian's eyes closed again as he nuzzled into the leg R'ae had left folded in front of him. He curled back up into his lover with a touch of stiffness, and extended his arm without prompting. The elf shook his head, but took the proffered limb and began to work. His extended leg reasserted itself over the human's frame. Dorian drifted, safe against the other man's body as he kneaded, R'ae humming under his breath.

                Dorian had not had any idea that this side of him existed when Lavellan had shown him the book he'd procured in Val Royeaux. He'd almost lost it when he discovered that the Inquisitor had bought the damned thing himself, a veritable encyclopaedia of ideas and (rather explicit) directions. Did he not know he had a reputation to uphold? The elf had actually laughed at his protests -- apparently it would have been "weird" to send a servant to pick up the damned thing. Besides, if he wasn't browsing the store, he wouldn't have even known what to send a runner _for_. No one of status would have been caught dead with a literal tome of pleasures in Tevinter, Dorian had said. One more point for the Inquisition, Lavellan had replied.

                The chapter that found him completely undone was called The Power of Submission. They hadn't been looking for _this_ , specifically; R'ae had just been looking up how properly to use rope, and how to tie forgiving knots. It had been... enlightening. Dorian didn't know about the elf, but he'd never been harder in all his life. If he was being honest with himself (which was seldom at best), he'd also never felt more at peace.

                He blinked slowly against the light as he came back into his own head. Lavellan was watching him, one hand lightly stroking his thigh, his massage long done.

                "I'm going to get up for a second, handsome." Dorian's brow furrowed in displeasure, but R'ae put a thumb to his lips. "I'm just going to get water and a cloth. Have to get you cleaned up. I won't be far." It took a few beats of his heart, but the human's face faded into silent acceptance and he unwound himself slightly. The elf stood, waiting at the side of the bed a couple seconds to make sure his lover was steady before moving to get the basin and ewer. He brought them back, and at the peaceful look on the other man's face decided he could spare the time to get glasses and drinking water as well. He _had_ ended up fucking him within an inch of his life, after all. It was the least he could do.

                Dorian was looking idly over his tortured body when R'ae sat back down on the bed. He watched the elf rearrange the copious pillows against the headboard and let himself be guided up against them, nestling his back into the small mountain. It was his fault there were so many pillows. He didn't feel a single speck of remorse about it, either. Lavellan poured a tall draught of cool water and made to hand him the glass. Dorian merely snuggled deeper into the heap and grinned wickedly, folding his hands across his mottled belly. Insolent little sub.

                "Spoiled." R'ae shook his head with rueful smile.

                "And whose fault is that?" The elf smoothed back the wild black hair, thick with sweat, before lifting the glass so his lover could drink. The man's eyes fluttered closed as he gulped it back greedily. Lavellan let a trickle drop when he finally pulled it away, and Dorian let out a yelp at the flash of cold on his neck and chest.

                "You really are a brute, you know," he huffed in mock indignation.

                "I can see that." His fingers brushed a bruised nipple, and Dorian fell quiet again as R'ae began to really examine his handiwork. The look on the elf's face was almost as intoxicating as the torment he'd visited upon Dorian's caramel flesh. The heat was there, the sexual appreciation, but just barely; it was overshadowed completely by affection and... something else. It had taken several times seeing that face before he'd finally understood that something was respect -- deep and complete, as if he were the one holding all the power instead of the elf.

                R'ae poured out a bit of water into the basin and heated it with a glance of his fingers. A familiar blue cloth was dipped in and wrung out before being touched to one of Dorian's collarbones with the utmost care. He couldn't help but watch Lavellan's face, watch those pale eyes guide his meticulous, weathered hands. His breath came sharp as the elf grazed one of the more tender spots on his chest, and R'ae stopped immediately, concern on his face and brow. Dorian gave him a quick nod of encouragement, and the feather-light touch resumed. Even the tepid warmth of the cloth brought a sting where the wax had smoked against his delicate skin, but he savoured it. It made him secretly glad Lavellan had bothered to get special candles from that same scandalous shop -- if normal candles burned so much hotter than these, he didn't know if he could handle them.

                Not yet, anyway.

                He stole another long drink of water as R'ae worked; chest, nipples, and abdomen all slowly coming clean. The crease between his thigh and groin trembled without his consent, and the elf smirked as he swiped at his own fluid.

                Lavellan would be lying if he pretended he didn't still feel some guilt, and the depths of that guilt were directly correlated with the peaks of pleasure he derived from the human helpless beneath him. It would also be a lie to say that either were minimal. He'd worked himself back up as he tugged and licked and bit at his love tonight, tasting sweat and oil and wax and _Dorian_ , his intoxicating and addictive Dorian. He'd worked that body until the man's eyes were unfocused and his sounds completely inarticulate before removing their new toy and fucking him, the human's cock in his hand, taking him deep and complete until he'd found his angle and brought his lover off screaming. Screaming with pleasure. Screaming for mercy.

                Nights like these hadn't even factored into his mind when he'd bought that book. He'd just wanted to stay interesting enough to keep the younger man from leaving. He'd been embarrassed, almost ashamed when the pictures of rope and knots had made him harder than folded steel. He hadn't quite yet made peace with the way his jaw clenched when he made Dorian whimper, or the fact that the more the man could take, the harder he wanted to give.

                "Sometimes I worry, you know." He reached back to let the cloth fall back into the basin, eyes roaming for any spots left behind. "When you get like that... gods, it's like nothing else, Dorian, but..." A human hand reached down to envelop his own, one thumb tracing faint patterns along his skin. Encouraging. Accepting. He kissed it, drawing out the courage to continue. "I worry that you'll let me go too far. I worry that you won't use your word."

                Dorian wasn't certain how to answer that. Platitudes rose unbidden to the fore -- _Of course I would, don't worry about me, how soft do you think me?_ \-- but he pushed them back down. He'd been willing to trust his lover this far, and maybe they hadn't expected to end up here but whatever _here_ was, it was perfect. He was willing to be truthful. He would try.

                "It's... a bit like drowning, honestly." He waved off Lavellan's complete lack of reassurance as he continued. "Not like that. Less death and panic. I mean, there has been a tiny amount of panic, but -- "

                "Creators, Dorian!"

                "Oh, let me speak!" His glower shut the elf up, though he wasn't pretending to be happy about it. "Have you ever felt panic? Have you ever felt the rush of suddenly knowing you were safe, even if the world and everything in it was out of your control? It's... _ugh._ You're distracting me from my point." R'ae huffed but said nothing, leaving Dorian the space. "Maker, I don't even know that I could explain it if I tried. What you need to know, amatus, is that you needn't worry about me calling it because I've already come close before."

                It spoke to Lavellan's self-control that he managed to hold his tongue at that. His shoulders tensed and he blinked a few times, but he let the human continue. "It's in the uncertainty, the expectation, the feeling that... that I couldn't possibly endure any more. I don't always know what I can handle, but you bring me through it every time. I know I can make it stop, _I know you will do that for me_ \-- " he raised a hand to the elf's face at this, " -- and because I can trust you in this, it means I can let myself go." He wasn't sure that he could ever speak the rest of that thought: _do you know what it means, that I can let go so completely for you? That I can give you that level of trust?_

                R'ae placed a hand over the one on his face, turning to kiss Dorian's palm. "Always, _vhenan_." He swung his legs up onto the bed and curled himself around his lover. "I just worry that I'm going to hurt you someday." The human snickered against his neck, gasping suddenly when Lavellan gave a reprimanding tug on a wounded nipple. "In a way you _don't_ want, smartass."

                "We'll figure it out, amatus. Relax a little. You're going to give yourself wrinkles." He rolled onto his side, letting his knee fall between R'ae's legs as he draped an arm across his body. "Do elves get wrinkles? You must, all that time out in the sun, exposed to the elements... eugh." Lavellan would have laughed at that, were he not too busy eyeing the swell of Dorian's ass. What would it be like to beat him with that toy inside... was that even safe? It wasn't that big, and the way it would feel when he twisted away... He hadn't actually given much thought to a true spanking until now, even though his new favourite book seemed to think highly of it.

                "You're filthy, you know." Dorian's voice brought him back from his reverie. His hand was trailing along the inside of R'ae's thigh, skirting his slowly-hardening cock. "We're _cuddling_ , for heaven's sake."

                "Hey, I'm cuddling!" He wrapped himself suddenly around his human like a damned octopus, all squirming body and limbs, wringing disgruntled protests from his hapless prey. "Maybe if you didn't put all your energy into _sass_ you'd have some strength left to stop me, hmm?" Limbs shoved half-heartedly, but there was no dislodging the elf.

                "Beast! Savage! Damnable brute, the Void take you, get off of me!" It was hard to sound indignant when one was laughing at a grown man wiggling about over a sweat-soaked bed, but that wouldn't stop Dorian from trying.

***************************************************************

                "Kid, I am _not_ having this conversation with you." Varric was walking away, wanting to be _anywhere_ but here.

                "But I can't ask Dorian! Solas told me I couldn't, even though Dorian told me I was allowed to ask questions..." Even if Cole's legs hadn't been twice the length of the dwarf's, there was really no outrunning him. "He hurts, the Inquisitor hurts him, and everyone knows it but no one stops it and no one will let _me_ stop it and -- "

                "Kid!" Varric stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose before hauling the spirit to a quiet corner. "The only reason everyone knows is because _you've_ told them. No one wants to know what they're doing up there, we're just glad they don't do it when we're out in the field."

                "But -- "

                " _Ohhh_ no. Stop now. Just trust me on this. Sparkler is more than strong enough to take care of himself up there. Leave it alone. Or actually, you know what?" Cole perked up slightly, though Varric's grin was anything but innocent. "You should go ask Bull."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out-of-province conference this weekend; next chapter will prob be late going up. :( Sorry!


	14. The Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way Lavellan would let a human (and a complete stranger) consume the last vestiges of history and knowledge of the elvhen. It goes about as well as could be hoped.

                Gentle ripples of water spread outward from Lavellan's legs as he waded into the Well of Sorrows. Was it really water? It pressed in on him, resisting his movement as water would, but he felt nothing damp against his skin. It was just... cool. Insistent. A pool of thought made manifest over the centuries. Over millennia? Who would know? _I will know_. Goosebumps ran up his arms and down his back as he came to the centre of the Well. This was the last true font of elven knowledge, of the history and culture of their people. _His_ people. It was his heritage, his birthright, Morrigan be damned. She was probably right, mind; if she'd had any training at all to prepare her for something like this, she would be the better vessel. Too bad for her. No matter the price, he would pay it to save his people. To save the world. He would drink.

                The thought-water licked across his hands innocuously as he cupped them. It was neither wet nor dry, it just... was. Lavellan could feel it trickling down his arms, _inside_ his arms, a shimmer of possibility as he lifted the first sip to his lips. He couldn't help but spare a quick glance back at Dorian. The man was his fire, stone and strength and power and passion in one beautiful package, thinly veiled displeasure marring his striking features. _Here goes nothing_. His mouth opened, and he tasted the will of the ancients on his tongue.

                A wicked blow drove the Inquisitor back as the fluid flowed in. Had he been just a man in a pool, his body would have gone down into the water with a resounding splash. Was that body still standing? It was as if his mind had been torn out entirely, flung back to come crashing down into --- this, whatever _this_ was. The sheer presence around him was overwhelming, the number of beings whose thoughts and wills had been poured into the Well -- into him -- pressing, whispering, demanding. He heard the word as Abelas had said it, _shemlen_ , and he knew it was without malice, simply marking him as mortal. Why was a mortal here, deigning to drink from the eternal font?

                "Corypheus... a magister wishes to rip the Veil open. I must learn how to stop him!" The voices were too fast, too many. The crush on his form was intensifying. Did he even need a form here? Was this a vestige of a physical existence, the need to wear a body to define himself as 'real'? Were the damned bastards even going to answer him?? He couldn't understand a word they were saying, if they were even using words. "Look, are you going to help me or not?"

                The disorderly muddle of minds shifted at that. He felt them pull together as one, whispering in unison. There was no ground beneath his feet, feet he did not have, as a whirling vortex ensconced him completely. _Wrong thing to say?_ He would not balk. He would not doubt. He would not cower. He was the Inquisitor. _The great holy hope of southern Thedas_.

                Something seared into him with a flash, a second mind entering his own. Images and words tumbled in haphazardly, forcing themselves in and through. Lavellan tried to chase them down, make sense of them --

                A third mind was in there now, memories of blood and steel, the sweetest music, clouds rolling and stern lectures and --

                A fourth. A fifth. There was no room! He tried to yell, to force the sound out to make space. It felt like being torn apart, forced apart from the inside --

                A fifteenth. A twentieth. Faces he didn't know. Years without end. Sunrises and sunsets and spires high and fair. He was not screaming. There was no room to draw the air for it. There was no air to draw. Abelas may have been right; his mortal mind was as an infant's to them, completely eclipsed by the eternal. He would never find himself again amidst all this. Every piece that made him whole was on fire. The light was near blinding.

                "If you don't come through this, I swear I'll kill you." Dorian's worry and anger dropped through the mire like an anchor, a beacon, and Lavellan held on for all he was worth. It had been selfish to drink from the Well, to risk his life and the entirety of the Inquisition. They were so close... he could not fail now. The cacophony touched in on his thoughts, listening, understanding. Learning? He needed to return. _You never left_. _You will stand_. _You will rise. We will have vengeance. We --_ The din was positively wicked. Cole may yet prove right. How would he ever think with all these voices pushing in? He needed to think. He needed to return!

                The blazing sun felt like it would blind him in actuality. He was on his back. The Well was empty. They were in there, hundreds of them. Thousands? Lavellan couldn't put a number on it. Their exceedingly long years were still impossible for his mind to wrap around; there were unquestionably thousands of mortal lifetimes rolling about in him now. Air pressed into his lungs. The sky had never seemed so blue. Millions of skies resonated through his mind at the familiarity, and he forced them back down.

                Holy shit. The Inquisitor rolled to a crouch, blinking against the light. His fingers found his face. He remembered the searing of flesh, but had it been his? This was his face, one of the many in him now but the one he should wear, and it was whole. He had survived. Somewhere in him gave a defiant laugh as he rose to shaky feet. He waved off the hands that reached for him. Who the hell did they belong to, anyway? Faces swam before him, elves he knew but had never met. Long arms, strong arms, short arms, frail and knobby and tanned and tattooed and fair and --

                This was definitely going to take some getting used to. He could see the world around him, feel what was real, but the secondary worlds inside were demanding. "Not dead! Well _that's_ a relief." Dorian? Definitely human. _His_ human. The voices growled at that. "So... good? Bad? I'm dying to know." Lavellan couldn't entirely follow the string of replies within, still trying to keep himself upright. They were looking around surely as he was. How long it had been since they'd seen these walls! They wanted to touch every stone, walk the long halls, make their supplications. _Yes. It has been so long. Hear our prayers, let our chants and benediction find You; Mythal, our Protector, goddess of Justice, we are Yours once again, as ever we have been --_ Ugh. Figures they'd head straight for the altars. Well if they wanted to be on their knees, he could certainly manage something.

                Lavellan pushed against the commotion, finding it easier with every step. He could feel what was left of the Well's magic rippling down and through him, settling in every fibre of his being. They would be tied into this existence together, this fragile and fleeting mortal life, and there would be no undoing what he had done. The compulsion to prostrate himself at the centre of this most holy of places was intense, and though he had been willing himself to walk he realized those steps were taking him back to the stairs Abelas had summoned. Back to the inner chambers of the temple. Maybe... maybe a quick prayer wouldn't be so bad, if it would quiet these damned voices. Would it? His gaze wandered back down the way they had come.

                Corypheus stared back up into his eyes. _Shit_. Every thought, every memory, every entreaty and demand was flattened when he saw the shock on the enemy's face. The gall turned to rage and into outright fury as understanding dawned on the magister. _SHIT!_ Lavellan didn't even have to cast about for ideas; the answer was clear to him even as Morrigan gave voice to it.

                "The eluvian!" It was awake under his will, easy as breathing. The voices skittered across the back of his thoughts, but he was the Inquisitor again and they were just mortals alone in the Wilds, and he'd be damned if he let some darkspawn take his people. Morrigan ran through first, without hesitation. Cole second, with some urging. The Iron Bull didn't give a single syllable of protest as he flew through next. Dorian... that rat bastard, the mage paused just inches away from safety.

                The look in his eyes cut through Lavellan like a poisoned blade. He hated this. He didn't like that the elf had risked taking in the Well, he wasn't liking his subsequent silence, and he sure as _hell_ wasn't about to run on ahead again. Not after Adamant. His face and posture read plain as day, but they didn't have time for this. R'ae reached out to squeeze his hand, the other still holding their escape open.

                "I promise." Dorian gave a single sigh before darting through. As Lavellan turned to follow, he saw a spire rise from the dry stones of the ancient repository. It flowed up between he and his pursuer, and when he saw the female form taking shape within it, he had no question who it was. He flung himself through the mirror, releasing the connection as soon as he was safely in the Crossroads.

************************************************************

                The Inquisitor had wandered half the halls of Skyhold before realizing exactly what he was doing. The voices in his mind had dimmed considerably now that they were so far from the temple, but his brain still felt like a hazy (and extremely unpalatable) soup. He'd started sifting almost immediately for some hint on how to kill their enemy. Half a solution and two hours later, he had somehow also managed to find himself in a breezy hallway overlooking the waste. _This keep is way bigger than it looks_. Someone inside threw up memories from the muck, a host of elven soldiers in full regalia rushing through this very hall, and he was forced to push it back down. _Ancient and elven, just like everything else. Point taken_.

                He was barely two corners into a fully covered hallway when he found himself in front of what he took to be a wine cellar. Was he under the tavern? Surely this would be under the tavern, or at least nearby. He chanced a peek through the unlatched door. No one would fault the Inquisitor a look through his own keep, would they? _Cabot actually might._ Damn stubborn dwarves.

                Gold eyes set in amber skin flashed back into his own from the shadow. A perfectly groomed black moustache quirked its displeasure in his direction.

                "Please tell me that look is for the poor selection." This was not what Lavellan needed. The man was so damnably hard to please sometimes.

                "Among other things." The chill in Dorian's words was unmistakable. He was one of those things. Again. _Oh good_. By the mercy of Mythal, how was he supposed to deal with this right now? He had to run the entire bloody Inquisition. With the Commander still in the Wilds and the Spymaster somewhere in the wind, with the bulk of his army weeks away and thousands of combined years of memories swirling about wanting to be heard, Dorian's ego and insecurities were just going to have to wait. What was he even doing down here?

                "You know what? Just go pillage my stock. It can take it."

                "That will be unnecessary." He straightened, one hand on a cocked hip. The other gestured about broadly. "Is this not what your hirelings drink?" His tone was clipped, challenging.

                "Dorian... fucking blight it, Dorian, I just can't. Please, find yourself something good and try to relax. I've got a keep to run."

                " 'Get out of my hair, Dorian'. " His voice was mocking, condescending. "Am I formally dismissed, _ser_?"

                "I am not _dismissing_ you. I am  _suggesting_ you take a drink up to our rooms, draw yourself a hot bath, and _RELAX_."

                "Go ahead. Order me to do it. Fucking _command_ me, Inquisitor." Dorian's voice was practically dripping with the challenge in his words. His eyes had gone dark as they glared out from under his tilted brow. His jaw was set, his shoulders were hard, and his upper lip curled into the dare. The man was full-on angry. _Just great_.

                "I am not _ordering_ you to do anything, _vhenan_." Flashes of sound, of faces and emotion and bodies and -- "I just bloody well want you to take the time to unwind a little! The _vir'adahl_ were a complete clusterfuck, in case you didn't notice. You've earned it. We all have." Dorian's glower turned to the wall as his arms crossed over his chest. He was withdrawing. "What. What now. What did I say?"

                "You tell me, because my meagre human brain hasn't the faintest clue. The vira-what now?" _Ugh!_ The crush of minds and memories was still so new, he hadn't realized the automatic translation. The translation into a language he didn't even know for a name that hadn't even existed in its time. He was floundering and confused and the one person he wanted most to care for, to dote on and tend to and hide with, to hide away, to protect -- _damn it all_ he was doing it again -- the human -- DORIAN, his Dorian, was angry and pulling away! He didn't have the focus for this.

                Fuck every last follower of this damnable sect, he would _find_ the focus for this.

                "The Wilds. The Arbor Wilds. I..." He had no words. The voices were receding at an alarming pace, but they weren't leaving him any better equipped for this conversation. And he knew exactly what this conversation was, didn't he? _I promised._ He'd made his lover walk through the mirror first, without him. _I'm here, aren't I? I KEPT my damned promise!_ "I don't know what to tell you, Dorian."

                "Oh really? The Herald of Andraste at a loss for words? What good fortune you have such a vast array of consultants now."

                _Are you shitting me??_ "Seriously? We couldn't have just left the Well to Corypheus. Gods, even if we found a way to defeat him before he found another 'vessel', the temple was lost with the death of so many Sentinels. It would only have been a matter of time."

                "You think I don't know that? There is no way that much power could be left laying about unprotected. I am not _completely_ daft, thank you."

                "So what, then? We couldn't leave it. _You_ didn't want it. You think I should have given it to Morrigan, a woman we barely know?"

                "You're damn right I do!" R'ae's jaw dropped at the admission. He _llo_ , new fight!

                "You _cannot_ be serious." Dorian was positively bristling -- if he'd had fur, every inch of it would have been standing on end -- but Lavellan was not about to let this go. "We found a collection of literally millennia of elven culture and history, almost everything that is left of my people in one concentrated draught, and you wanted me to hand it over to a stranger! Someone who would marvel at how neat we all were before our entire civilization collapsed, only to squander it in ignorance!"

                "Do you think so little of _Dalish_ culture that this was the thing that mattered to you, that you wouldn't be able to convince her to share the knowledge once the enemy was defeated? Do you think so little of what your people have become?" R'ae had tempered none of his lover's fire, and Dorian's voice began to ring off the dimly lit stone in its ferocity. "The risk of taking such powerful magic into yourself, magic that you know nothing about, should alone have been enough to stay your hand! You're the _Inquisitor,_ amatus. You could have been driven mad. You could have been killed. You don't even know what the true price is yet!"

                "I know that, but the risk was no less for Morrigan. Whether she wanted it or not, could I have asked her to take that chance?"

                "Yes! Yes, you bloody well could! Let her play with her life, if that's what she wants! But _you --_ !"

                "I had no right to put her in that kind of danger!"

                "Oh just _shut up!_ " Dorian was outright bellowing. Lavellan had never seen him so mad, and he'd been there when Magister Pavus had shown up in Redcliffe. "That is a pathetic excuse! You took something she wanted, you would have forced nothing on her, and you know it. You have a responsibility to the Inquisition and to all creation, and you were willing to throw that away in a gamble for power! You should have let her take it. I don't give a _fuck_ if Morrigan would have been broken or slain. _Morrigan_ is not the man I love!"

                Silence fell behind Dorian's rage, not so much as a cawing raven in the background down here. Guilt and shame rushed up to take all the fire out the elf before him. _The man I love?_ R'ae swallowed hard. The human's eyes shifted as he realized the words he'd spat out in his anger.

                "Dorian..." Lavellan reached a hand out toward him, his apology falling on deaf ears as the other man turned and stormed out.

*****************************************************************

                By the time night fell, the muddle in the Inquisitor's mind had finally retreated into a series of faint whispers. The relief that he may actually be able to sleep was sizable, yet still totally eclipsed by his relief at the man he found reading in his quarters.

                Dorian marked his page and set the book down on the low-backed divan before rising to meet him. He gestured for Lavellan to be still, and he did as he was bid.

                "I'm sorry. You were right. _Vhenan_ , I -- " The human silenced him with two fingers on his lips and a small shake of his head.

                "What's done is done. You are alive and whole, and I can make peace with this. I just need to know..." He trailed off, his touch feather-light against Lavellan's skin. "I need to know you are still present here. With me." The elf clasped his hands in front of him with a relieved sigh.

                "Still myself, through and through. Hell, I can barely hear them now. It's pretty well just the same hot mess I always am in here." He gave an apologetic smile, and Dorian shook his head again.

                "You're mad, you know."

                "I know."

                "If you ever do this to me again..."

                "I know." He felt like shrinking, but still he stood.

                Dorian heaved a deep sigh. "What am I to do with you?" He pulled the elf into a familiar embrace. "My Inquisitor, my stunning Dalish madman. My R'ae."

                "I love you too, you know."

                "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is still considering strangling him once he falls asleep lol.


	15. Was That It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because piss off, Coryphy-shit.

                It comes out on one of those pleasantly busy afternoons, when a person has barely the time to stop and eat in the face of well-ordered chaos. Dorian has been researching improvements on some of his more taxing spells. Books litter his corner, stacks open to specific pages one atop the other, markers in the closed books off to the side. Lavellan can't read the title of the one he's currently perusing, but it looks downright tiny compared to the volumes he's set aside.

                "What happened at the elven temple... it's got me thinking," he says with a slow, thoughtful look up. R'ae doesn't have it in him to ask if he's changed his mind. He's supposed to be past that by now and so he just lets Dorian talk, even if just to hear that familiar cadence. "I should go back, shouldn't I? To Tevinter, once this is done. If we're still alive."

                "Did we go to the same temple? Because that's not a rumour I've heard." R'ae taps at his own head in suggestion.

                "It's about what Abelas said, about the Imperium not being responsible for the downfall of the elves." He lets his gaze wander across round, familiar walls as he rises, wandering to the central railing. Lavellan listens, watching the sweeping gestures and serious expression even as he finds himself hating the words that accompany them. Yes, the Imperium has fallen to shit. Yes, the magisters revel in the cruelty of their own history, and yes, they should be taken down a peg. Made to understand they are not infallible. Dorian could be the man to start the revolution, but...

                "What about..." The words stick in his throat. He knows his heart is bare. He has worried from the start that he's been on the losing end of a one-sided relationship. He knows it demeans the other man, devalues his feelings, but he's always been too afraid of it being true to let it go.

                "Us?" _Yes, us! I never meant to be your inspiration_.

                "Once Corypheus is defeated... Why don't I go with you?" Better to be the free elf in a sea of sharks, he's sure of it. He doesn't like this conversation.

                "I can't ask that of you."

                "As if you would have to ask. I'm offering. I _want_ to. Besides, I can do that thing you like, the one where I twist an entire empire around my little finger..." The joke falls flat. Dorian is being serious, and that makes this all the worse.

                "This is something _I_ need to do." _No! No you don't!_ Lavellan's mind rails, the beast inside pounding its mad rhythm against his chest. _What are you trying to prove to yourself? Why would you have to do it alone? If I inspire you so, then acknowledge that I have had help every step of the way! I've had_ you, _Dorian! Is this some kind of punishment?_ He thinks up every manner of excuse and reason to fight back.

                What he says instead is, "I understand." Dorian's eyes soften, as if R'ae is the one pushing this between them. He has begun to retreat inside himself as the human starts to explain -- _no, you apparently would_ not _do anything_ \-- and settles for a quick kiss as he makes to depart.

                "Back to work, Dorian. I want to see how you've made out with that haste later."

                "It's old news, amatus. I'm on to animating spirits of the enemy dead to fight for us. It... may be more difficult to demonstrate here."

*******************************************************************

                Lavellan is almost glad when Corypheus picks the very next day to end the world again. He has few people in Skyhold -- those who rushed back with the Commander, the skeleton guard that had been left behind to run the place, and (thank Mythal) the Chargers -- but part of him knows this fight was never going to come down to armies. He rallies his most powerful allies, assigning them parts of the field to control. Many know the layout of the temple already, thanks in large part to the siege that brought them together.

                Vivienne, Cassandra, and Varric are assigned the left flank. Solas, Blackwall, and Sera are given the right. Dorian, Bull, and Cole all draw the proverbial short straw, and are to help the Inquisitor pin down and slaughter the magister.

                The qunari is delighted beyond all good sense. He reminds Lavellan that he doesn't even know the day of his birth, but given Theodosian customs, he would swear it were today.

                In a fight of this magnitude, with the world hanging in the balance, he can be only one man. He is the Inquisitor, the person who has traveled bodily through the Fade not once but twice. He is the embodiment of hope for the resurrection of his people. He has faced a would-be god and lived. He thwarted the monster's attempt to destroy one of the most powerful human nations, bringing it instead to kneel at his feet. He stole a demon army from under its nose, instead bolstering his own numbers with the unwavering loyalty of grateful Wardens. This man, the man he has become, will be the man to save the known world.

                He considers spitting on Corypheus' corpse when this is all done, but Dorian would undoubtedly remind him such an act would be uncouth. Perhaps he will ask The Iron Bull to do it.

*********************************************************************

                The way the temple grounds tore free of the world almost made Lavellan laugh. The magister's god complex had him wasting epic levels of power; his whole sense of 'staging' alone smacked of self-gratification. It was reassuring, in a way. After all, no real god would need go to such lengths. Solas' smirk flashed through his mind at the thought. The sway of unsteady stone under his feet was... a touch less pleasing.

                Cool wind whipped around them up here, singing through crumbling walls and buffeting his robes about his legs. It brought him sudden clarity, one of those moments when the pieces around you reveal themselves and the mind grasps a depth it seldom sees. He remembered the fear and uncertainty the first time he'd seen that face at Haven. He had changed so much since then, _they_ had changed so much. His heart was calm, his hands steady as they watched the overgrown darkspawn try to intimidate them. He'd cut himself off from his army for this, the desperate fool. They had grown strong while Corypheus revealed his greatest weaknesses, and finally -- _finally_ \-- they had a chance to end this. He felt the pull of Dorian's magic, heard the familiar shift of Bull's weight as his finely-honed greatsword settled in his hands. Cole was dead silent, no more a presence than a breath of air at the nape of your neck.

                The magister gesticulated grandly as his corrupted pet breached the walls. Lavellan whooped, laughing along with the qunari as Mythal's glittering draconic counterpoint crashed in. Damn, but he loved that dragon! Her glittering gold scales were no less lovely as her opponent's blood sluiced across them. Corypheus' corrupt servant was powerful, no doubt, but in this at least it may have met its match. The Inquisitor had stared her down, brought that magnificent powerhouse to heel, and damn if that didn't tickle him just to think about.

                You know, after facing down as many dragons as he had, this magister just didn't worry him so much anymore.

                The fight was hardly routine, but their team worked together like a well-oiled machine. They danced in and out, hitting only when and where it would count, forcing their foes to split their focus. The dragons went down. Corypheus put up a decent show, but even he could only hold against their assault for so long.

                In the end, he was just another darkspawn. The only difference was in the satisfaction of the kill.

*******************************************************************

                It might have been four whole weeks before the victory celebration Skyhold was to host for the nobility. Considering the vast quantities of food and décor that had poured in ahead of their guests, Lavellan was forced to wonder if Josephine had started sending for them the minute he'd come back through the eluvian from the Wilds. Wasn't it customary to wait until the enemy was defeated before sending for the party supplies?

                Of course if they'd failed, there would be no one left in front of whom they could be embarrassed, so there was that.

                The main hall was swathed in glittering fabrics. Tables and seating had been switched out for more Orlesian-style settings, and plush white-and-gold rugs covered the worn stone floors. Josie had assured him they were enchanted. Who in their right mind wore white, let alone walked on it?? If one wanted mottled brown carpet, it could be procured for much less expense.

                At least she'd allowed him to keep the long wall drapes with their simple Dalish patterning, though Lavellan was convinced she'd either procured new ones or had these enchanted as well. The deep green was rich and vibrant and practically shone.

                The torch brackets gleamed, and he found himself empathizing with the poor staff who'd probably had to clean the damned things. The hinges of the great doors had been greased into dead silence. Doorways left open for mingling were being half-draped invitingly. Kegs and casks were being hauled up, a small string band setting was being assembled in the far corner next to the throne, and a full bandstand was very nearly finished out in the courtyard.

                Lavellan felt a small knot in his gut as a seamstress approached, a gleam in her eye. Figures he wouldn't be allowed to dress himself. He considered briefly asking Dorian's input before thinking better of it, and let himself be led away. If his lover had his way, Mythal knew he'd end up all but painted into a woefully insufficient amount of fabric.

*********************************************************************

                Cassandra _hated_ noble-sodden functions like these. Sure, she got it. The pomp was yet another game, another strategy, another blah blah masks and ugly dresses. Maker, but these things were tedious! She didn't know how anyone could consider something even as informal as this to be sufficiently enjoyable for a celebration of their mutual continued existence. At least she hadn't been forced into anything that looked like an oversized cream puff.

                Cream puffs mysteriously appeared at her shoulder at the thought, and the pink looked infinitely better on them than it did on Comtesse Annique. Cole popped one into his mouth with the ease of obvious practice.

                "She thinks you're prettier than her."

                Cassandra snorted her laughter, forgetting herself. "She'd feel better about herself if she wore _clothing_ instead of foodstuffs."

                "I think you're smarter. And braver. And definitely stronger." The warrior had nothing to say to that. From anyone else, it was a line. From Cole? Her heart tickled with warmth. "Anyway, I expect it's the bum. Varric says -- "

                "THE DWARF SAYS NOTHING." Cass flushed red to the tips of her ears, stuffing a pastry into her mouth in self-defence.

************************************************************************

                The afterparty reminded Vivienne of the night she'd met Duke Bastien, except that the joy in the air was sincere. Well, and the elves here weren't servants. And the poor were having a party of their own that was threatening to shake the very foundations of the keep. _And_ there were more Fereldans than Orlesians. And... okay, admittedly this night was as far as one could get from the other, except for the profound feeling of glee hidden behind her impeccably maintained propriety. Her robes swished perhaps a bit more than they absolutely needed to as she swept once again amongst her oldest friends.

************************************************************************

                Sera was jittery. Unsettled, even. This was not her scene. Sure she put her arrows in some shit, but just because the nobles here assembled approved of her target, it didn't make them friends. Or acquaintances. Or not-targets. _UGH!_ The elf was going to fidget off of her chair. She was nowhere near drunk enough to behave for this.

               She filled her tankard again, an inappropriate drink for an inappropriate woman. She had half a mind to drop it and start making her own fun, only to find herself scooped into a one-armed bear hug by some _damnably large qunari arsebiter --_

                "Sera!! Perfect!! I was just telling the crew about those dragons! Did you see the way that big gold beauty nearly tore the other guy's neck open? Those _teeth_. And that _roar!!_ " Bull was completely unfazed by the steady stream of curses and named animal parts that flowed from her mouth, half-carrying her back to his table. He plunked her into an empty chair between Skinner and Grim, and she silenced long enough to make sure her ale didn't slop out of the mug.

                "Missed a drop," teased the rogue's deep lilting voice. Indeed, a few had spattered back onto her hand from the rough treatment.

                "Pssht, blame this great horny twat! Of all the fuckin' shite things to do, nearly makin' me spill my booze, I oughta -- " Sera caught herself, tongue frozen in mid-lick as it swept the amber beads from the back of her hand. Skinner was watching the motion intently, half a smirk on her lips and an incline to one eyebrow.

                _SHIT. I don't do elves! I don't do elves._ The internal dialogue was almost louder than Bull's booming story-telling. _I don't... I.. umm... shiiit._

************************************************************************

                "I am telling you, Bookworm, you'd sooner see a beard on the kid." Varric's arms were crossed over his chest, head shaking defiantly. "I'm a surfacer, born and raised. I don't need a rug to keep my chin warm. I have the sun for that. A sun I _very much enjoy_ , thank you." The look on Dagna's face was put-out, almost petulant, but she was still a world away from dissuaded.

                "It's not about the sun or the stone. I just think it would make you look so... so dignified!"

                "Are you saying that you think less of me because you can see my chin?" The arcanist flushed, but Varric felt no remorse. If she wouldn't let herself be deterred, she should be ready to deal with the resistance.

                "No! Not at all! You're amazing, everyone knows that. Talented, and _handsome_... but everyone needs to diversify their image sometimes. Keeps things fresh, you know? Keeps 'em coming back." Okay, and now she had resorted to praise.

                "Aww, come on now, that's not fair. It's common knowledge that flattery gets you pretty far with me, but the answer is still no. Besides," he grinned, spreading his arms wide, "I wouldn't want to cover all this."

                Dagna thought she deserved an awful lot of credit for not ogling the hell out of the older man's chest, but he wasn't about to acknowledge said effort. She set her chin and grinned back. "Oh, but you wouldn't have to. You could braid it, spike it... you could even weave it into all that chest hair..." _Crap_... ok fine, she _might_ be ogling now.

                "Varric, my _darling_ ," purred Vivienne's cultured tones, the Orlesian accent thicker than usual. "You must come with me. Dear friends of mine are great admirers of your work and they would so love to meet you. _Oh_ \-- that is, if you're not otherwise occupied, of _course_." Glittering blue and silver robes whirled between the two dwarves. Her smile was practiced and smooth, and her tone did not betray one lick of surprise at her interruption.

                "I had no idea Orlais read my books. My publisher has certainly led me to believe otherwise. Sorry, Bookworm... another time?"

                Displeased but not dispirited, Dagna waved him away. "Your public awaits. Don't think this is over though, Tethras."

                The Iron Lady rested her hand delicately on Varric's outstretched forearm as they swept away from his table. Once out of earshot, he brought his own up to rest briefly on hers. "Thank you," he murmured with a squeeze.

                "Think nothing of it, my dear," she replied through her genuine grin.

************************************************************************

                For the fourth time, Josephine declined Blackwall's invitation to dance. She was working too hard, he said. She had earned this as much as the rest of them. She should relax and enjoy herself. Did the damned soldier not get it? The nature of her job may have changed, but if anything it was about to get a lot busier, and this night was pivotal! Nobles were pouring in from east and west, this was their chance to make a first impression on many of them, and if _he_ wanted to the Inquisition to thrive as much as she did --

                A fifth time.

                Maker, there would not be a sixth! He folded his strong arms across his chest, watching the snap of irritation in each step as she walked away. This woman was a pillar of strength, wrapped in grace and silks with that perfect little laugh... _ugh,_ the Void take it all! The sky was healed, the enemy was dead, and she could worry about the damned nobles tomorrow.

                He shucked his bulky overcoat onto a nearby chair. Calloused fingers plucked open the strings at the top of his shirt, revealing just the barest expanse of muscle and clavicle. He righted his shoulders and his courage, and strode after her. In four quick steps he was able to reach around, snatching the clipboard from her hands to send it skittering against the draped wall. Josie rounded on him, fierce words and indignation on her tongue, only to have her waist encircled by a single strong arm. She stilled, watching as the other raised her hand to full, bearded lips. The softest kiss was lain on her skin under a wave of the darkest lashes, eyes grey as a threatening storm telling her everything as they looked reverently up into her own.

                And then Josephine Montilyet, ambassador to the Inquisition and demigod of all sociopolitical Thedas.... stammered.


	16. Afterparty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Two things in private before you run off. First, you are terribly dull and I hate you."  
> "... And the second?"  
> "I hope this ends soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediate continuation of the final romance scene. As you hopefully have guessed.

                Dorian slid his arms around Lavellan's waist, pulling the older man's body back against him. His warmth was an anchor, a haven among the mad, and the elf leaned into him without a thought. The human was tall enough that his lips could reach his ears without stretching, and he planted a series of slow kisses down that pale taper until he met R'ae's jaw.

                "Well I hope it doesn't end too soon, or I'll be awfully cross for my speech," he teased, stretching his neck to allow the younger man better access. They stood on one of his chamber's balconies, the cool air a small price to pay for the view. The glow of a fading sunset over the Frostbacks was breathtaking, purples and oranges and gold playing against retreating clouds, dancing off the snow-capped peaks. Raucous laughter and lively tunes floated up faintly on the wind.

                "It will have to end soon, or you'll not make it to your speech," Dorian chuckled. The point of his tongue curled up to R'ae's earlobe, snaking behind to tease, teeth tugging gently at the soft tissue. The elf's breath caught, his shoulders tightening at the sensation, and the human gave a small moan. "But then, should not the Inquisitor be allowed to set his own hours? After all, no magister would ever be caught doing something on schedule."

                Lavellan curled a hand up to grip Dorian's neck, turning his own head toward him slightly. "Do I look like a magister to you?" The human kissed the corner of his grin before answering.

                "Oh no, amatus. You are so much more than that. You are, however, of sufficient importance that they will wait." He brought his hand up to cup R'ae's chin, pulling him around to take his mouth in a passionate kiss. The elf turned, wrapping one arm around the other man's torso and a hand back up against his neck, holding him tight. It was several seconds before they pulled apart to breathe, lips red but no less insistent.

                "Would you? Wait, that is?"

                "Only as long as was socially appropriate." He felt Dorian's smirk against his mouth, his words meant in jest, but it sent an increasingly familiar chill down into his gut. _Only as long as it suited you._ He left a few light kisses on the human's bare shoulder before pulling away, taking his hand to draw him back into the room.

                "Yes, well, if we're worrying about social propriety then I really should be getting back. Man of the hour and all that." He put on his best devilish smile and gave a squeeze of Dorian's hand before trying to let it drop.

                "Dear Maker, preserve me." The younger man tightened his grip and pulled the elf back to him. R'ae tried not to stiffen in his arms, in any sense of the word. "You have plenty of time. This is the Inquisition, not the Imperial Senate or the Orlesian Court, and this is a party, not a war room. You are allowed to let go a bit, amatus." He flashed a rakish grin, leaning his forehead down to rest against Lavellan's. "Unless, of course, rubbing elbows with the nobility has become your idea of fun, in which case I'll have you imprisoned until your exorcism."

                The elf couldn't help a chuckle at that. "I don't even know what kind of demon would be into this sort of thing."

                "With this many Orlesians? Despair, no question." He won a full-on hearty laugh at that. Lavellan snaked his arms back around his lover with an exceedingly put-upon sigh.

                "Whatever will I do with you, _vhenan_?" he murmured. Dorian pulled their hips together, rolling his own slightly as he lowered those full lips to brush against R'ae's.

                "I have a few ideas." His tongue flicked out to taste his lover's lips, causing them to part as the elf groaned another laugh at him.

                "Just a few?"

                "Well, they will want you back _sometime_ tonight." He lifted one of Lavellan's hands to his mouth, slowly taking one finger in. He rolled his tongue up and down the length of it, flicking suggestively at the tip, suckling just enough to be felt as his eyes bored down into the elf's. R'ae's own eyes flickered. This was definitely about to get out of hand. Joking aside, he was the Inquisitor, damn it! It would be extremely bad form to miss his own party because he was up here fucking.

                "Dorian..." _Too breathy, Lavellan. Try again_. "We really don't have time..." A second finger joined the first, and the human let his eyes roll up as his lashes fluttered shut. He moaned against them for effect, and R'ae heard himself echo it. His dress clothes were getting painfully tight against those grinding hips. "Merciful blighted Beyond, Dorian. I have work to do. Josie will kill me if I stay here to string you up right now."

                "Oh, I fully expect more victory sex once this night is done," came the cocky reply, tongue laving wet digits. "This is just to tide me over. Besides, who said anything about stringing me up?" He made to kiss Lavellan's fingertips, but that hand moved to grip his jaw just this side of too tight.

                " _I_ did. I am going to hang you from the wall like a piece art and make you beg for doing this." Dorian's shoulders shivered and his hips stilled, but the grin did not leave his lips.

                "We _definitely_ don't have time for that."

                Lavellan shook his head slowly, eyes dark, pupils wide. He leaned in and took a slow kiss from his lover's lips before releasing his face. "Come on, then. Let's go be proper."

                He made it only a couple steps before Dorian was on him again. One arm encircled his waist while the other tangled itself in his free hair, tugging hard enough that he let his head fall back to ease the sting. "We may not have time for that, but we have time enough. I am not entirely ready to be proper with you yet."

                Lavellan glowered, urging the blood to flow back up to his brain. "You insufferable minx. You think I have so little control that you can just -- _ahh!_ " His head slammed back against Dorian's shoulder, eyes wide, mouth open. The hand that had been fisted in his hair was clamping down on his neck now, stifling his breath, crushing the delicate cartilage of his windpipe. His chest heaved without thought, sucking back tiny wheezing gasps, as both hands flew to that forearm. His ass began to rut furiously back against Dorian's cock before he managed to catch himself. His back tensed, holding his body still. He forced his chest to stop its frantic expansion and closed his eyes, waiting for the rush to settle. It had been several months at least since the last time the man had choked him, and this had gone straight to his head.

                "If you really want to bow out, now's your chance, amatus." Dorian's voice rumbled, thick with lust. "Otherwise, it's a one-finger tap if you need me to let up." The hand on his neck loosened, letting oxygen roll back in, giving him the space to think. As if there were any thinking he could do beyond the filthy show his imagination was putting on right now. The heat of his lover's chest, his breath, was scalding against him. His cock throbbed with need. Thedas' nobility could go fuck themselves... he wanted to see stars.

                Long fingers gave a brief squeeze against his throat again, bringing a whimper to his lips. _Get it together, man_! Dorian's free hand began to toy at his waist, working its way under all that fancy cloth to grip at bare skin. "Window's closing..." Nips at his jaw. The buckle of his pants fell open, easing the pressure against his painfully swollen length. He finally came back into his own head as the hand stroked down into his trousers, and a groan fell from Dorian's lips. "You didn't."

                "Of course I did. Why would I wear smallclothes to my own party?" Lavellan rounded on him then, shoving his arms aside as he pulled his face into a fierce kiss. Dorian's hands slid to buckles and straps, divesting himself of his clothes in record time as he was pulled toward the bed. R'ae let go long enough to pull his tunic over his head, fasteners and all. He promptly found himself shoved back onto the mattress, a lean, muscular mage tearing off his recently-tailored pants.

                "Damn it, Dorian!"

                "Oh please. As if I would ruin anything that showed you off so nicely." He draped himself over the elf, kissing and groping, following him up the bed as he crawled back. "Although now that you mention it, I do have half a mind to destroy everything they've got you in tonight. All the eyes, the hands, everyone reaching out for a piece of you. As if they're somehow owed it, or have somehow earned it after all this time spitting at your very name. Their saviour. Their Inquisitor." Lavellan blinked up into his face at this. Dorian covered with a saucy grin, but not fast enough to keep him from seeing the resignation and... was that actually jealousy? "Watching your ass all night, though, I can't say I blame them. I do hope they model their next Divine after you."

                "As if the Chantry could handle that. One of me is enough to have them shitting themselves. Besides, if my ass looks that great, the one they should be envious of is you." He found Dorian's lips again, pushing up against him with every inch of tongue and intensity he could muster, and the human followed his lead. Hands roamed and dug in as a thick, dark cock found its mate, and they began to rut against each other.

                Lavellan's hand reached to the bedside table, swiping amongst the growing clutter for the familiar pot. He slicked his palm before reaching down to wrap his hand around them both, causing Dorian to start making those delicious little sounds. He slowed his pace, rolling his hips into a slow grind as he moaned. Holy shit, but that man was a show. The way he fluttered those long, dark lashes, the intense expression, the _sounds_ , the way he looked about ready to devour the elf with his gaze alone... the human was born a singularly sensual creature, and Lavellan would be lying if he said watching him didn't turn him on every damn time. They used to spend hours in bed together when they'd first hooked up, toying with each other like this. In fact, he mused, a slow grind was exactly the opposite of Dorian's idea of a quick fuck...

                "Ohhh no. We don't have time for you to -- " A dark hand was at his neck, and R'ae silenced himself before it was done for him. His heart fluttered and his fist clenched, and the human's dark golden eyes bored down into his own.

                "We. Have. Time." He began to pick up speed, and the elf's hand began to move even as he tried to keep his own hips stilled, matching every thrust of Dorian's with a downstroke of his own. _This_ he could work with. The sound of the man's increasingly heavy breaths, his solid grip, the way he held his shoulder as he rocked his hips...

                "Oh fuck, _vhenan_. I want to taste you. I want to fill you. I want to fuck you until you scream, just to hear the sounds you make. I want to see the look on -- on your -- " The grip on his neck was slowly tightening, and he lost his words just trying to contain his mounting excitement. He had only one sentiment left.

                "Gods... Creators... Mythal... _Yes_."

                Dorian slid his dick out of Lavellan's grasp and reached down to grasp the pale member below him at the base below where the elf's hand still rested. He twisted his hand in the slick that already half-coated it, pulling up to the tip and back. "Oh no, amatus. You'll have all that when I'm hanging off the wall later." His wrist wrung as he pumped R'ae's cock, solid as granite. "Tonight, the whole of southern Thedas is yours to own, to do what you will with. I have decided that you, by contrast, will be mine."

                Lavellan would have laughed at him, had he any blood left above his chest. His mind was a lust-filled haze, his loins roiling with the mounting pleasure. He gave a few cursory shoves at the man above him, losing his hands to the feeling of hot skin, fingers trailing along Dorian's body. They dug into his back and ass in complete contradiction of their purpose, succeeding in causing the human to rut against his thigh. Was his lover even still into that? It had been quite a while. That said, it had been so long since Dorian had taken him, he was -- _unngh_ \--

                A newly-slicked finger pressed against his ass, and one slender thigh hitched up subconsciously to allow a better angle. R'ae found the dark cock above him and took hold, a lifeline for the sensation he was craving.

                "You're cute when you're pushy, _vhenan_." His hand moved in time with Dorian's finger -- _ahh,_ correction, _fingers_ \-- as he arched against the hand that still held him pinned at the neck. He flicked his tongue out, eyes taking in swaths of amber flesh, watching the fine movement of muscle as he was stretched and opened. The realization dawned on him suddenly that he _was_ being stretched, and it made part of his brain react -- the part that had become accustomed to being in charge, to being vigilant on his partner's behalf. "Dorian..."

                "Mmm, a little more needy, amatus," he teased, eyes dark. He crooked his fingers, hitting that perfect spot, and Lavellan had to blink a few times before he could push out the words.

                "Dorian. _Ohh_. You don't have to." The gasps and groans coming out of him felt as normal and necessary as breathing; he'd have had to really try to stop them, and honestly, he didn't feel the effort was worth it. "Ride me. Fuck yourself on me." Dorian's fingers slid out of him, slowly, and he was vaguely aware that the man was slicking himself up. The hand on his neck was completely loose, the human holding his weight on his knuckles as he swatted Lavellan's hand away long enough to coat his shaft. He leaned down, nudging the elf's face into the pillow as he leaned in to whisper in his ear.

                "No." One leg was hitched up, rolling his hips. "One finger to tap out, remember. One finger is all it takes, if you're not interested." R'ae's face was pushed up again by the thumb next to it, and he was looking deep into those intense golden eyes.

                "You don't have to." Dorian outright laughed.

                "Oh, but I want to. You have no idea how badly I want to watch you come undone for me." He left a singular, sensual kiss on the elf's mouth. "Now, show me. Show me what you do if you need me to let up." A grin played over R'ae's lips, hearing his own words echoed in his mind. _Say it, vhenan. Let me hear your word, first._ He tapped a single index finger to the hand at his throat, moving again to tap him on the forehead with a smirk. "Good."

                He hadn't forgotten how good it felt to be filled, per se. It would be more accurate to say that his memory had dulled itself on his behalf. It was the stretch, the commingling of burn and pleasure, the way the sensation flew up his spine and made his scalp tingle. It was the heat of his lover, the sounds Dorian made, the way his muscles trembled under Lavellan's hands as he kept himself in check while the elf's body adjusted to the intrusion. Unholy hell, he'd missed this.

                The human's mouth fell open as he bottomed out, burying himself to the hilt. His hips rolled slowly at first as he savoured the heat, the small twitches of the body writhing beneath him. R'ae anchored his feet around Dorian's waist. He kept his breaths deep and even, and tried to keep the moaning in his throat down to at least every other thrust.

                Dorian began to pick up the pace, and didn't that idea just go right out the window. He tried to use the body above him for leverage, but the human had apparently meant what he said; Lavellan found himself just keeping up as both hands now were roaming his body as he was ravaged. Shoulders, hips, thighs, ass -- everywhere was fair game, the only consistency found in the force of Dorian's grip. He bit down hard into the meat of Lavellan's shoulder, pulling an impassioned growl through the elf's gritted teeth. The angle was great for depth but terrible for control. The man was going to have to let him up soon, or how was he supposed to --

                -- get fucked senseless by Tevinter's sexiest necromancer? _Right_. _Bottom_.

                Both hands came up to wrap around Dorian's shoulders, surprisingly well-muscled for a city mage. R'ae stopped using his feet for leverage and momentum, hitching them up a bit further until he could steady himself around the man's ribs. In. Down. Deeper. A smile began to play across R'ae's lips in understanding. In acquiescence.

                The human gave a groan from deep in his throat. He adjusted his pace again, feeling the elf move with him. Two hands ran up the backs of Lavellan's thighs, and he let himself be rolled forward a bit, giving Dorian the angle he wanted. Oh -- _ohhh_ \-- scratch that, the angle _R'ae_ wanted. His back arched as the man kneaded him, stroked him just right inside, working his painfully hard cock against that knot of nerves the Creators had seen fit to give him.

                "There you are, amatus. Give yourself over to me." A nudge pushed his ankles even higher, and he hooked his legs over Dorian's shoulders. A warm hand found its way back to his neck, and he was suddenly reminded of how they had gotten here in the first place.

                "I'm yours, all yours. Just don't stop." And there it was, the pressure he'd been craving. He pulled against Dorian's shoulders, spearing himself on that marvellous cock as yet another whimper escaped him.

                A second hand slid around to complement the first, thumbs overlapping, fingers lying alongside his neck like a cuff of amber flesh. He was panting now, almost in anticipation of losing the capacity for it. The heat in his gut roared as the grip tightened. His hands flew up, grabbing at Dorian's forearms.

                "And just like that, he is at my mercy. He _begs_ for my touch." R'ae nodded, focusing entirely on his shrinking windpipe. His breath was a strained wheeze now, but it only caused him to draw deeper, to feel the utter fragility of one of his most vital parts. His moans were barely making it out at all, tiny choked sounds that hit the barrier over his neck and died. The pressure was exquisite. He wanted more.

                R'ae flexed his grip on Dorian's forearms, and the human took the hint. Tighter. The elf's pulse raced wild under his thumbs. Tighter. All noise finally died on his lips. A pink flush began on his cheeks, and his gaze began to unfocus. "My beautiful Dalish madman, crushed like a butterfly under my very fingertips." The elf's hips began to shudder and rock off-time, eyes rolling under fluttering lids.

                His chest was still heaving, to no avail. The promise of release tightened within him as his body started to cry for oxygen, confusing his senses, sending pleasure rocketing through him. Dorian was murmuring above him, glistening with sweat. His voice pitched higher as R'ae grabbed for his own cock.

                He was so close. Tiny bits of purple swam into his vision as Dorian pounded into him. Fuck, it felt like he was stroking his whole body, he wanted to come, he needed to come --

                If he had any air left, he'd have used it to scream. His mouth flew open and his eyes squinted shut as he covered himself in his own slick, white semen. He was on fire, the power of his orgasm exploding in his head, shaking his foundations. His ass clenched involuntarily against Dorian, and the man hollered above him. He rode the elf through it slow, releasing the grip on his neck as he finally came down.

                The breaths that rushed back in only served to heighten a deep, encompassing satisfaction. R'ae's entire body relaxed as his legs slipped down. " _Dorian_..." His voice sounded as weak as he felt. His lover's mouth crashed onto his own, and he let himself be devoured. His ankles slowly hooked behind the man's back, and Dorian's lips withdrew.

                "Not yet satisfied?" The voice was aiming for smug and cheeky, but somehow landed far afield in need and lust.

                "Take me, _vhenan_. Fuck me until I can't feel my legs. I want you to fill me, I want to feel you all night." His voice was barely a whisper. Dorian didn't seem to mind. He repositioned, letting his elbows catch his weight as he adjusted his legs and started to pick up his pace. He did exactly as he was bid, his capacity for articulation falling quickly away into a series of groans and invocations to the Maker. R'ae dug furrows into his lover's back, bringing his lips and tongue and teeth to bear against the man grunting over him as he crested. Dorian let loose a final cry as he spent himself, burying his cock deep as he could to spill inside the elf. His elf.

                "Holy Maker, amatus. And you wonder why I can't wait until the end of the night." Dorian pulled out gently as he could and collapsed next to him on the bed.

                "Never said I wondered." Lavellan was a puddle. His head was a haze and his limbs full of some languorous weight, yet still he managed to roll onto his side to snuggle tight against the sweating human. Deep, rolling breaths echoed his own, almost hypnotic in their rhythm. He could sleep right here, right now. Skyhold and Thedas be damned. For a minute he almost thought Dorian would let him have it, but apparently being Inquisitor was going to cost him this moment, too.

                "Come now, love. Time to get up. You know there is no rest for wicked."


	17. Depopulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every story has an ending. Not everyone gets to pick the one they want.

                It was barely two months after the downfall of Corypheus when the Chantry named their new Divine: Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line to the Nevarran throne, the Right Hand to both Divine Justinia V and her predecessor Divine Beatrix III. She had but two days worth of possessions -- a few books, clothing, arms and armour, travel gear, and a small box whose contents were a perpetual mystery (save, presumably, to Cole ). She took ten days packing them. She personally oversaw the reassignment of every one of her charges. Replacements for her duties were handpicked (and overtly threatened). She took every supper with at least a few of her comrades, instead of on the run or in her chambers.

                Much to her chagrin, the Inquisitor and his compatriots managed to rouse almost the entirety of Skyhold for a hero's send-off. Hands shook, cheers were cried out, and knees were bent, and when she finally got to the end of the procession, she full-on slapped him before he swept her protests spinning into a hug.

                "Be well, Seeker."

                "That's Divine Victoria to you, impudent heathen."

                "Duly noted, Seeker."

***********************************************************************

Lavellan found himself in the rookery the same evening Cassandra left. His Spymaster was still scribbling away in the light of the dying sun, scraps of paper littering the benches and crates where she worked. She set her quill aside as he drew up a seat, shuffling her affairs to the side as best she could with the wet ink. Her smile was genuine, if a touch sad.

                "Good evening, Inquisitor. What brings you to my drafty corner at this hour?"

                "Would you believe me if I said the company?" He flashed Leliana a wry grin as he pulled up a nearby crate.

                "Hardly. I am not half as fun as I used to be. Perhaps it is just the wind, but it sounds like the exciting company is all in the tavern tonight." The quirked eyebrow said she didn't buy his excuse for a minute, but the teasing tone was giving him a way out.

                "Well for your information, it is at least half-true. I happen to like your company, dull as it has apparently become."

                "And the other half?"

                Lavellan fought the urge to fidget as he answered. "I'm wondering... about the appointment for Left Hand."

                "Ah." A series of expressions chased themselves across Leliana's face, finally settling on a benign, knowledgeable sort of look. "It is a demanding post, Inquisitor. I don't know that you would have time for it with all your other duties."

                "Ha ha."

                "What? I am serious. I know I don't."     

                "You -- but -- so then, did she -- I mean, I would understand if -- "

                Leliana laughed, her tired face at once open and at ease. "Inquisitor, it is alright. She and I spoke of potential candidates for the position, of course, but my place is here. I believed in the Inquisition the day it was declared, and I believe in it now. We still have a lot of good we can do." She leaned forward to put a comforting hand over Lavellan's. "And you know she would not have left us for any less than the holiest of callings."

                A slight pink rose to his pale elven cheeks. "It's not like that."

                "Certainly not. So then it is mere coincidence that you have been asking after Varric's potential departure date so frequently."

                "Varric is a good man. I just... it'll suck to lose him. But it's not like _that_ , either." Leliana paused for a few seconds before releasing his hand and leaning back in her seat.

                "She let him hug her, you know," the spy teased.

                " _No!_ " Lavellan's jaw dropped, scandalized. "You're lying. There's no way. Besides, he'd never go for it. They're mortal enemies, like... dwarves and darkspawn. Healers and Horrors. Vivienne and Sera!"

                "It's true, I swear it!" Leliana was all but giggling. "In fact, one might even say _he_ let her hug _him_."

                "No way."

                "On the blessed robes of Divine Justinia, peace be with her." She placed a hand over her heart. "He went to drop off a series of pages, almost looked like a manuscript. He went to say goodbye all on his own, too."

                "The dwarf is mad." Lavellan shook his head, laughter fading into a sad smile. "I'm gonna miss him. He'll go now that the new Divine has been chosen, won't he?" Leliana nodded.

                "I expect so. There are still quite a few pieces left to fall into place, but he won't feel the need to be there for them. Besides, Cassandra is not a subtle woman. I am sure he can predict at least half of what will come."

                "She's going to re-establish the Circles of Magi." Lavellan's brow creased, displeasure and concern clear.

                "Yes, I expect so."

                "Mages in Circles will mean templars. How in the name of Mythal does she expect to keep them from turning into prisons again? How will she ever get the mages to go back to that?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Skyhold is the single largest haven for free mages that I know of in all of Fereldan _and_ Orlais. She'll expect me to send them, like herded druffalo to their pens." He set his hand palm-down on the bench, raising a swirl of ice into the image of a loose-petaled flower. "We're just too dangerous to be left to our own, you know."

                "And when the Circles are reinstated, Vivienne will leave." Leliana ran a finger along the edge of one fine, cold petal, ignoring Lavellan's comments. Cassandra was just and reasonable. A compromise would be both needed and met.

                "They'll need her in Orlais. She'll make a fine First Enchanter."

                "She will."

                Lavellan sighed. "It's not like that," he whispered half-heartedly.

                "Of course not. But just so you know, if it were, it would be perfectly understandable." Leliana folded her hands in front of her, leaving the silence for the Inquisitor to fill. He scoffed, fidgeted, and scoffed again.

                "A third of our people are either on leave, or have returned to their homes altogether. A few more won't make a big difference."

                "It will if those few are close friends of yours. How long do you suppose before Cole moves on?" she asked. Lavellan watched the ravens flutter on their perches.

                "Not long. Skyhold is whole. The Inquisition was raised on this conflict and our people have started healing now that it's over. The rest of the continent is still reeling. He'll soon figure out he's needed elsewhere."

                "Think he'll say goodbye?" No answer to that. "At least Bull and his people are sticking around."

                "They're mercenaries. They've been hired to stick around."

                "Blackwall is no mercenary, and he's still here."

                "Until Josephine needs to leave to manage her family."

                " _Inquisitor_." Leliana crossed her arms, a chastising look on her face. Lavellan watched the birds. The window. His shoes. She gave the smallest of sighs before leaning forward onto the table and refolding her hands. "This must be difficult for you, growing up as you did. I don't imagine new connections come easily."

                He gave a half-hearted laugh. "War helps."

                "It does at that. Do you... do you want me to have my people try again to find Solas?" And there it was, one of the twin burrs in his chest. A friend, a scholar from and with whom he learned, a comrade-in-arms he'd trusted with his life, gone without a word. Hell, they'd saved the world together. Had that meant nothing to him?

                _No matter what comes, I want you to know you shall always have my respect_. But that was a lie, wasn't it? In the end, he hadn't trusted Lavellan enough to tell him the truth. Hadn't trusted him enough to tell him where he was going. Hadn't even bothered to say goodbye, though with that cryptic bastard, that's probably what he'd meant.

                "It's a waste of resources. Your people are good, and if there were no leads to find when the trail was fresh... Besides, if he doesn't want us to find him, then fuck him. The Inquisition's arms are open, and _we_ aren't exactly hard to find. It's not like he'd come back, otherwise he'd be here, and I'm not about to try to keep the man prisoner." _I owe him better than that._ "I doubt we could contain him."

                "Tough talk, but you fool no one, Inquisitor." Leliana gave him a smirk. "You wouldn't have the heart for it."

                "You saying I'm not tough?"

                "I'm saying you're a good man."

                "You're killing me here, Lel." Lavellan hoped his lopsided grin conveyed enough of his gratitude.

                "Not tonight I'm not, but if you keep me from my work any longer I'll be forced to consider it. Agents of the Dowager Marquise of Cherneau have turned up in reports from four separate sources over the past two weeks, and far beyond her what her influence should allow. She is... not known to be a sympathizer, to put it kindly, and I must put eyes on her. I must figure out which of my people, if any, can be stationed in the Val Royeaux chantry, as the new Divine is familiar with many of the ones I would have chosen, and that is to say nothing of appointments for the coronation, of course. I have received word of templars -- mainly those who fled the red lyrium and have been underground -- who are beginning to resurface, and I must finish a report for the Commander. He will want to send people for them, and in my estimation it would be better if we recruited them before the chantry gets to them. We are continuing to receive incoming migrants, and -- "

                "Merciful Protector!" Lavellan held his hands up in protest. "I ought to hire you an assistant or something. Wait... don't you already have an assistant? No, forget I asked. Find yourself someone new and bribe them with the health benefits." He flashed her a wink.

                "Maker, is that what you lead with?" Leliana laughed.

                "Heh, I don't ever have to get that far. My opening line is usually 'The red templars are dead!', and the rest kinda takes care of itself."

                "Is that how you caught that northern starlet of yours? I figured he'd be more of a jewelry-and-brandy kind of man." And there was the other burr.

                "It was the demons, actually. Dorian can't resist a man covered in demonic ichor." _In retrospect, maybe I should have gone with brandy._ Leliana made a face.

                "You can take the man out of Tevinter, but you can't take Tevinter out of the man. Sounds like an Imperial romance to me."

************************************************************

                The sun had dipped past the ramparts by the time Lavellan took his leave of the spymaster. Evening always brought a measure of quiet to the great hall, and tonight he was looking forward to it. Most had already gone to dinner, and those who had returned generally had business they wanted to conclude for the day and were not hanging around for fun. The tavern would be busy, as well as the baths, living quarters, and even the library, leaving only the pleasantly muffled echo of booted feet on tightly woven rugs.

                The stacks on the second floor of the rotunda were empty as he passed, which was not so unusual at this hour. What _was_ strange, however, was the way Dorian's voice was echoing up the stairwell at him.

                " -- sure you would have better taste than that. I'm almost embarrassed for you, _ma chère_ _Madame_."

                "My dear boy, you wouldn't know taste if it bit you square on the -- Inquisitor." The Tevinter turned quickly, surprise on his features as the elf came through the open door. Lavellan eyed the pair warily: Vivienne with a hand on one cocked hip, the other closing mid-gesture, Dorian with arms crossed and one hand on his chin.

                "Don't mind me. It looks like the wall was in dire need of some scolding." With all the grace of tamed snakes, the pair of nobles straightened and brushed imaginary wrinkles from their perfect outfits, sharing a laugh of indulgence and deflection for him. Neither was looking at Solas' elaborate frescoes, radiant with colour even in torchlight, tales of woe and heroism rendered in painstakingly perfect strokes.

                "Surely you are accustomed to us by now, darling," chided Vivienne. "We are hardly scolding. It is merely a matter of taste in furnishings. Or lack thereof." Her smooth smile was all for Dorian.

                "Furnishings." He blinked.

                "You must admit, amatus, a single desk in the middle of the room is not only impractical, it's a distasteful misuse of the space."

                "Impractical. Right. Um... aren't you two forgetting something?" Lavellan's arms hung tense at his sides as he wandered further into the room, though no closer to the two humans at its rear wall.

                "It's entirely my fault, darling. I had no idea this would be so... involved when Dorian asked for my input. I've already sent for a bottle of red. It's only a Dragon age from Seleny, but I can send for better if you're interested."

                "... from... wine. Of course. Couldn't do this without wine. And what is _this_ , precisely?" Vivienne cocked an eyebrow, sharing a quick look with Dorian before letting him pick up the conversation.

                "Well, it's been two months since our victory. While we are all unquestionably saddened by the loss of our comrade -- " the Orlesian nodded sagely in agreement, " -- the fact remains that no one has yet made use of this room. Most likely because no Fereldan would have a clue what to do with a rounded wall," he added in a distasteful undertone. Lavellan raised a brow of his own, and Dorian hastened on in his explanation. "This is not just any room, you understand. This is one of the few rooms immediately adjacent to the Great Hall, and anyone of any import will cross it. Not only should it serve a function, but it should be exquisitely appointed and well-maintained."

                "So you want to decorate it."

                "He _wants_ to use it." Few people could make Dorian look truly flustered, but Vivienne had managed it with that comment. He puffed out his chest and held his head high, smoothing buckles and leather again.

                "It is a suggestion, not a takeover. A suggestion _you_ agreed with, if I recall correctly." He cut his eyes at her, and she replied with a tiny bow of the head. _Still on your shoulders_ , it said.

                "Dorian." Lavellan's voice was tight, his arms crossed in front of him. This should not have been an issue, he knew, but he couldn't help his rising displeasure.

                "A true study, amatus. The scope and rarity of many of the tomes we have acquired is hidden across shelves and rooms and in dark corners throughout Skyhold. Knowledge is power, and this room could be its display: the understated but omnipresent dedication to knowledge and its pursuit, and by extension the... consequences of such."

                Lavellan took a deep breath in through his nose. It wasn't that Dorian was wrong. He could easily see the room packed to the second floor railing with books, visiting nobles being received or entertained in plush armchairs. They would be surrounded by volumes that spoke not only of scholarly interest but also of the power and reach of the Inquisition. A young man appeared at the doorway of Solas' study -- _damn it all_ \-- with a dark green bottle and pair of goblets, addressing 'the inestimable Madame de Fer'.

                He let the breath out slowly. This was not a big deal. He had found a couple of friends together in speculation, that's all.

                "It's not a terrible idea," he conceded slowly. Of course it wasn't. Why would it be? He let his eyes linger over the walls, covered with scenes of valour and blood and tiny figures stalked by sharp-lined wolves. "Only one problem with it, though." He gestured broadly to encompass the panorama.

                "You could never paint over it," Dorian said pointedly, eyes sliding slowly back to Vivienne.

                "I don't see why not," she replied. She swirled the wine in her glass before lifting it to her lips. _Don't see why not??_ Lavellan was appalled, all traces of acquiescence lost. Solas may be gone, but he had worked on these walls for hours at a time, weeks fading into months and then into years! These brush strokes were all they had left of --

                "Honestly, must we have this discussion again? Painted stone, Vivienne, really? That's what got us into this mess in the first place." _This mess?_ Dorian rolled his eyes and gave a heavy sigh. "We're already running anchors for the shelving, it is little effort to run a rail for drapes. They can be changed, cleaned, altered at a moment's notice. We can use them to control not only the backdrop but the shaping of the -- "

                "Are you _serious???_ " Lavellan let his arms drop, his expression disgusted.

                "Thank you..." Vivienne murmured into her glass.

                "And _you're_ no better!" He brushed her comment off with a sweep of his hand, leaving a cross look on her features. "Not only are you two taking over Solas' space, but you're arguing over the best way to get rid of his work!"

                "Amatus..." Dorian raised his hands in peace, palms out. "It's not his space any longer."

                "Says who, you? The man who wants it for himself?"

                "Said the man who walked out on us the minute the fight was over!" Dorian's expression darkened. "He didn't even come back to Skyhold with us. He didn't even leave the _temple_ with us. Solas made his choice, and this is it. This room isn't his any longer."

                "And so it should be yours?" Lavellan's blood boiled. The arrogant shit!

                "He's not coming back, amatus."

                "And you're telling me you will?" And there it was. Silence fell deep, punctuated only by the occasional caw of a raven from on high. He knew as soon as the words left his lips that it was the wrong thing to say, especially in front of other people -- especially in front of Vivienne -- but Mythal damn him, he just didn't care. There were so many wrong things to say to Dorian, so many things he could take personally, so many he often did. He could take this one however he damn well liked. After all, _he_ was the one planning the trip to the Imperium.

                Lavellan turned on heel and stormed out before either mage could say any a word. Maybe he'd find Bull, see if he could persuade the qunari to hit him with a really big stick. It had seemed to help the other way 'round.


	18. Wait... What?

                The cool night air did nothing to ease Dorian's temper as he stormed back to his own seldom-used room. _And you're telling me you will?_ Vivienne had been gracious ( _Ah, the curse of a tempestuous lover!_ ), but that did not mean he had to be. Fine, so he was the Maker-damned Inquisitor. That did not give Lavellan the right to speak down to him in such a way, especially not in front of other people. _Especially_ not in front of anyone that he held in any esteem. That forsaken Dalish did not own him! He was here of his own free will, though apparently that was now to his discredit. Oh, how times change!

                It was true. Two months ago he'd admitted it, and it was true -- someday, Dorian hoped to return home. He wanted to help. He wanted to make the world a better place. He wanted the Tevinter Imperium to be a nation to whose greatness others aspired, instead of being the cackling villain in the shadows. He wanted the world to see his people the way he saw them, great in a way apparently only he knew they could be. He'd exposed a fool's hope to one of the people he trusted most, and look how that confidence was being returned.

                There were so many thoughts running through Dorian's mind at cross purposes, he really had only enough clear space left for them to stoke his anger. Even Lavellan, for all his pretty words, knew this could only be temporary. _One wrong word, and I've been cast aside? I should have known better._ Hell, he'd known better practically his whole damned life, but once again he was at the mercy of his greatest weakness. _No_ , stop, this was _not_ his fault! The damned Inquisitor was already acting like Dorian's bags were packed. He had basically admitted that he was waiting for him to leave, was already working under that inevitability.

                Really, if he'd just learned how to shut off all this shit he wasn't allowed to feel, had never been allowed to feel, he wouldn't be in this mess again. _Again!_ Along had come this beautiful elf and this fucked-up fairy tale, and if he'd only learned how to leave sex where it belonged --!

                Dorian reached his chamber with an angry slam of the door. Even Lavellan knew it would have to end. For all his pretty words and all his reassurances, now that they weren't about to die horribly he was getting ready to make the cut. Even in Ferelden. Even in Orlais. Even in some frostbitten, ramshackle fortress halfway to the moon, where his lover practically rewrote half the Rules to better suit his absurdly misplaced optimism, it was going to end. Again. Because of course it was, and all because Dorian had made the mistake of opening his fat mouth and admitting that something mattered to him.

                Emotion had always been his greatest weakness. Dorian Pavus was not a nice man, but he was a passionate one. He'd been born with too much of _whatever this shit was_ , and had just never been able to shut it off. How could he ever have been expected to? He'd been raised proud, strong, forever reaching for the highest pinnacles of greatness and achieving them with ease. The lessons that made him an Altus blended perfectly with the hallmarks of Tevinter -- passion, fire, conviction, purpose -- and he could no more eschew his nation than his very flesh, because both gave him shape in equal measure. How deliciously ironic that being perfectly Tevinter meant he would never fit in today's Imperium, that he would have to remake it before it would ever accept him.

                Not that Lavellan gave a shit, useless Dalish prick. Dorian pulled out a pair of saddlebags and tossed them to the middle of the floor. Most of his travelling gear was restocked every time they made Skyhold, meaning that his belt pouches were already full of potions and minor necessities. His pack was tidy, dirt shaken out of his blanket and bedroll before they had been neatly refolded and added to things like spare foot wraps and cleaned water skins. He would need only rations, and whatever he may require to be considered respectable company before he could have the rest shipped.

                A pair of fine boots got tossed to the saddle bags. He _should_ go back to Tevinter. It would be easy enough -- book passage from Jader to Nevarra, and follow the Imperial Highway up. His birthright hung heavy and secure about his neck, and he rolled it absently in one hand. It would serve the damned elf right if he did. Dorian was independent and powerful in his own right, with his own aspirations and his own battles to fight. Blood feud or no, he was still the sole heir to one of the most politically powerful families in all Thedas and heir-presumptive to the Pavus seat in the Magisterium. Moreover, he was an Imperial Circle mage of the highest caliber -- not some trophy to be carted about at someone else's convenience. Especially not when the excuse for so doing was sex. So what if they were fucking? That didn't give Lavellan the right to assume he'd stick around in the first place. Of all the nerve!

                _Sorry to tell you, Inquisitor, but Dorian Pavus is not husband material._ Two of his best robes joined the boots on the floor and the stabbing pain in his chest. Fine, he could admit it. He was in love. When had that ever mattered?

                Mind you, if he was ready to storm off and take on the entirety of the Imperium, he could at least have one good row before he left. Damnable bastard elf.

*********************************************************

                Try as he might, there was no getting work done this night. The never-ending stack sat on the corner of the desk in Lavellan's chambers, taunting him. The stained glass doors were closed against a cool autumn wind, keeping in the all-too-fleeting heat, and light burned like a cozy lie against the walls. He had no idea how non-mages handled the cold out here. Half the time he found himself helplessly burning mana to heat the room's metalwork just for a little more ambient warmth. An oil lamp on his desk flickered over the most recent trade proposal -- the final draft in Josephine's flowing script after many hours of deliberation -- and in lieu of a good night's sleep, he elected to start from the top. Merciful Mythal, he needed to get _something_ done today.

                The slam of solid wood echoed over the patter of drops on stone, and R'ae knew the accompanying steps almost as well as his own. He didn't bother to look up.

                "You can be a bastard, you know. A real prick."

                "Get over it, Dorian. I'm giving the room to Cullen." Lavellan's voice was flat, tired. Uninterested. He picked up a quill for the sake of having something to toy with.

                " _Cullen?_ " The human almost stuttered. "What -- I don't _care_ what you do with the fucking room!"

                "Then why are you here?" The sound of rain was the only thing filling the silence as Dorian collected himself, fighting off the urge to fireball the Inquisitor out of his own damned rooms.

                "If you have something to say to me, _amatus_ , the least you can do is say it." His voice was a low hiss, scorn in place of affection, but it did the trick. Lavellan dropped the quill. He shuffled the papers back together, leaving them on top of the tidy pile before standing. He moved to the front of his desk to lean on it, the picture of disinterest. His grey eyes were completely inscrutable as he folded his arms and waited.

                "Come on, then. Let's have it."

                "Wouldn't you just love that. Take all the pressure off of you, one less thing for the Inquisitor to have to look after. Well I'm not your damned pet, and I'm not your damned housewife, and if I want to go home then I have every damned right to!" Lavellan gave a shrug in way of reply, only stoking Dorian's ire. "I am allowed to want something for myself! I am allowed to have my own ambitions outside of you! And not only do you hold them against me, you don't even think this merits a conversation!"

                "What conversation, Dorian? What is there for me to say? You're right, you're absolutely allowed. I don't hold it against you."

                "Fuck you, you don't. That is the worst lie I've heard in months, and I play cards with Cole. So what is it I've done wrong, exactly? If I'm to leave, you may as well tell me."

                "No one said you did anything wrong." Lavellan was getting quieter, more resigned if that were possible, but damn if it wasn't just making Dorian angrier.

                "You'd think you'd know how to have a fight by now, R'ae."

                "Excuse me?"

                Okay, yes, that was a low blow. He should probably take that back. "You heard what I said. Wait, no, I apologize,you're right. You'd think you'd know how to have a fight by now, _ser_." ... Okay, or not. At least he'd stopped before the _it's what you're best at_.

                "Hard to know how to know what to say when I don't even know what I'm fighting about, _your lordship_."

                "How are you actually this shitty at lying? Has Leliana taught you nothing? Or are you actually done already?" The cold flutter in his gut thought he was being unnecessarily antagonistic. The grimace on Lavellan's face agreed with it, but his throat was visibly choking on words that weren't coming. Dorian took the opportunity to scoff. "I suppose I have misread you. I thought this was more than just a quick jerk behind closed doors, that maybe I could expect..." _Danger!! Danger!!_ "... No, not expect. That the great Inquisitor might actually stoop to being honest with me." He spread his arms, palms-out, hoping to the Maker that the look on his face was challenging instead of pathetic. He should never have come. Damn it all, Void take him, when was he going to learn?

                "Honest."

                "Yes, you blighted idiot elf. Honest. Just fucking say it, just do it and -- "

                "Fuck you, Dorian." The human just blinked. His mouth opened, and Lavellan cut him off again. "Fuck you and the host of demons you rode in on. Honest? What have I been anything but honest with you?"

                "The past two months -- "

                "The past two months I have tried my damnedest to be _civil,_ and _understanding_ , and all that _shit_. You told me you were planning to leave me, and then expected me to carry on like nothing had changed! I haven't lied to you, Dorian, not fucking _once_ , but how the fuck did you expect me to take that? I think I've done a bang-up fucking job, thank you very much!" A switch had been flipped, and Lavellan was outwardly fuming. His arms had begun gesturing as he spoke.

                "Oh, for the love of the Maker, do you need to be so dramatic? I never said I was leaving you." The human's voice was dripping with disdain. "Heaven forbid I express an interest in being anywhere but on your arm, just one more warm body for you to control."

                "No. Ohhh no. That is nugshit. I have _never_ tried to tie you down. _You're_ the one who's leaving for the other end of the continent, and _you're_ the one who told me I wasn't welcome when you did."

                "As if I meant today! As if it were some weight you were suffering under, some monster that at any minute were going to bite off your Inquisitorial little toes!" _You don't need me, damn you! I have a life outside of you_. _I swear I can._

                "The day isn't the point, Dorian. Maybe next month, maybe next Summerday, it doesn't matter! Could you even tell me a day, if I asked?" The younger man opened his mouth to rant, but Lavellan cut him off. "No, you can't. You don't know yet. And forgive me or don't, but I can't live under that shadow. I can't just sit around and pretend everything's fine when every day, I have to wonder if that's the day you'll decide you're done with me."

                Dorian blinked incredulously a couple times, completely at a loss. "You... you can't be serious."

                "Do I look like I'm joking?"

                "What the hell do they teach Dalish children, anyway? No one lives happily 'til the end of their days, amatus. It's not an ultimatum, it's just the truth. Even your people must get miserable after being married to the same person for thirty damned years. Is that really something you want?"

                "Aside from the fact that we don't marry, my people don't generally live long enough for that to be a problem." Lavellan's voice was cold and bitter. "And no, I was never taught to see love as expendable _or_ finite."

                "Love." Dorian scoffed, eyes rolling away.

                " _Yes_ , love! That thing I'm in, with you! Hell, with or without you, Dorian." Silence hung heavy between them, both men stewing. The fireplace supplied the only sound, crackling away merrily in spite of it all.

                "You cannot mean this. You cannot honestly believe that two people can just... stay in love for decades, watching each other get slow and crotchety, curtailing their lives and freedoms and listening to the same arguments and having the same fights. It doesn't happen, R'ae." The look on his face was almost pitying. "Love doesn't last forever. You can't begrudge me leaving when it fails."

                "We faced down one of the magisters that tried to breach your Golden City. We've walked through the Fade, literally. We're friends with a spirit who has his own body, _somehow_. I've met a god! Hell, I've even seen Cullen smile." Lavellan looked like he was about to swallow his own tongue. "Don't talk to me about what can and can't happen."

                "You're serious, aren't you?" The air was stifling suddenly, heavy in Dorian's chest. "You really expect us to just do... this, forever."

                "I'll be honest: I don't know if we can, but I would never forgive myself if I wasn't even willing to try." He shrugged helplessly. "But I can't do it all on my own. And I can't just sit here waiting for you to make up your mind." Dorian gave a tiny, mirthless laugh.

                "So it's leave you now, or stay forever?" The ground was a gaping hole, he was sure of it. It was going to consume him. He wished it would. This was definitely not the conversation he was expecting to have tonight. The walls felt tight suddenly, small and constricting.

                "It doesn't have to be. Dorian..."

                "No. I understand." He backed up a couple steps.

                "It's not forever, it's just one day at a time, I just -- "

                "No, Inquisitor. I won't take it back. I _will_ return to Tevinter, and I _will_ change it for the better, and I cannot promise you otherwise. And I can't promise you'll be ready for me to leave when I do, so let me make this easy for you." Every fibre in him was screaming, railing: _go to him, kiss him, don't let him go! He loves you, he loves you, he --_ "I leave in the morning for Jader."

                The room swam, but he somehow kept from vomiting everywhere. Lavellan looked white as one of Josephine's enchanted Orlesian rugs.

                "Dorian, don't. Please..."

                "Give my regards to the rest of our companions. Best of luck, Inquisitor." Even Dorian's mind could not turn his subsequent scurrying retreat into a boastful departure.


	19. Gone

                Dorian was nothing if not a man of his word. He finished packing in record time, even including the fact that he had to redo the job halfway through. He'd caught himself packing as if for hostile terrain and lethal foes instead of for safest road in all Thedas -- the Imperial Highway -- and to comport himself as a Tevinter nobleman. One of the walls in his chambers was scorched now -- a petty action for assuredly unrelated reasons, reasons which he knew better than to have (and could no longer _afford_ to have).

                Part of him wished it had worked out. The other part of him, the reasonable part, knew that it had. Maybe he had not been ready for the end, but it was better that it happened now, before he became a blind, bitter, middle-aged malcontent. Or worse -- domesticated. Better for it to happen while he was still young, while he still had time and energy to affect real change in his homeland. Better for it to happen when he'd only invested a handful of months. No, wait... it had been at least... they'd spent two Satinalias together, even if... Oh Maker.

                He made arrangements with the captain of the night rotation for an escort to Jader at daybreak, and promised himself no one would notice how badly burned the walls of his room looked now. What had he been thinking?

************************************************************

                "Your Worship? Ser?"

                The small voice of the small page brought a surprising weight with it this morning. Part of Lavellan was surprised to discover he'd fallen asleep. Another part thought him weak for it. The largest part, however, thought him damned stupid for having drifted off out in this frigid, forsaken corner of the ramparts instead of in his bed where it was warm. The stiff ache in his joints and the chill in his guts had him feeling every wound he'd taken in the last few years. He was nauseous and sore. Forget breakfast.

                "Her ladyship the Ambassador has had us looking all over for you, ser. We've had word that the Antivan delegation is only a day or two from us, and she's frantic to make sure everything will be in place. She also wants to remind you that we need to have those -- "

                " _Fenedhis!_ " The page cowered as if he'd been struck, silent as Lavellan struggled to his feet. It felt like a shard of ice had pierced his skull, pain radiating from behind his eyes. Sleeping outdoors in Skyhold in autumn was a terrible idea. He was shivering all over. "Lady Montilyet is more than capable of managing these affairs in my absence. Better, even, for the lack." He began to stagger away. Could he even make it to his private bath like this?

                "But my lord, what about the highwaymen? You've yet to judge the men who were harrying our supply lines, and her ladyship would like them resolved before the Antivans arrive." The young man was following, slowly and at a distance as the Inquisitor made the first set of stairs down.

                "I bet she would. There were at least a dozen of the bastards." Wind whistled overhead, and R'ae cringed. "How does this place ever survive when I leave?"

                The young page didn't seem to know how to respond, padding along behind him like an uncomfortable shadow. It was true, he had several things that desperately needed his attention. The basic running of the keep was still fluctuating wildly, and it was becoming a nightmare trying to balance this with their changing agenda. Today though, he just... couldn't. He blamed the sick feeling on the cold in his blood, the ill temper on the ache in his bones, and the complete lack of energy on... well, okay, that one was safe to attribute having gotten no more than a nap against the stones. He wanted to take a hot bath before curling up in bed with Dorian, his Dorian. His handsome hot-headed mage from the north, the man who felt like a small furnace in his bed, who desperately loved to cuddle most nights and denied it just as often.

                "I'll have the guard bring the prisoners up for judgment. Tell Josephine. And tell her I'll be having a fucking bath before she gets any more of my time."

**********************************************************

                The road to Jader was deceptively quick, twisting as it did down the height of the Frostbacks all the way to sea level. The change in elevation mellowed out the climate somewhat, each night milder than the next, until finally the breeze blew salty over Dorian's unreasonably well-maintained coiffure. The troops he was travelling with smiled and jested, delighted to see the blue-black expanse as they broke over a crest of hill. _Barbarians._ He remembered the trip here well enough. That body of water was deep, hostile, and completely unyielding. It had given him the first respect for the power of nature he'd ever had (a respect born of healthy fear, of course).

                Maybe he'd stay the night in Jader. They'd already been a full week on the road, after all, and a proper hot bath would be most welcome. He could find a ship tomorrow.

************************************************************

                "Why does he make you think of your family?"

                "Because the mind is a surprisingly unhelpful beast, Cole."

                "So... when you miss one person you love, you miss all of them?"

                Lavellan was quiet. He'd dreamed of his mother again last night, her sad eyes looking into him instead of past him as they so often had. _Your fault, da'len_. She said she hadn't blamed him, but after the loss of her lover and her daughters, she'd not even been able to bear to looking him. His mind still reminded him from time to time, for all the good it did. She'd looked into his eyes last night, the Fade rendering her the way she was near the end, pale and drawn. Her gaze had bored into his and told him again, _your fault_.

                "Is this the part where I tell you I don't love him?"

                "Maybe. That's what he was doing when he left. He certainly expected it to help." Cole's brow furrowed. "But... knowing that doesn't help you."

                "No, Cole. It really doesn't."

********************************************************

                Shopping for passage was simple. Given the choice between Val Chevin (out of the way and _Orlesian_ ), Kirkwall (half-built and ruled by mage-hating templar savages), and Cumberland, Dorian narrowed his choices down to three seaworthy vessels all leaving for Nevarra within the next couple days.

                None of them looked appealing. Most of the sailors were of unquestionably poor hygiene and not a single ship looked sufficiently comfortable for a man of his birth and status. Alas, he would be forced to stay another night amidst the fish-and-pitch reek of the port city, listening to the hollering of drunks and dock hands and the creaking of old wood.

                At least such a place should have a good selection of imports. Dorian spent the better part of the afternoon bathing again, touching up his hair and kohl, trimming his moustache, and staining patterns onto his left hand and arm with a paste made of black lotus. It tickled and burned, calling to the Fade through his flesh. The stuff was damned hard to get here, considering it wasn't made outside the Imperium. _Pignere ignus_ was a practical magical augment whose mark lasted a couple weeks per application, but marked the skin deeply each time. It was considered uncouth in Tevinter not to weave intricate images with it when used -- a sign that one had no artistic talent, had no money with which to _hire_ artistic talent, and may have even (Maker forbid) just slathered it on in a hurry out of desperation. At times like this, Dorian was relieved that his hard head had insisted learning how to use it properly, instead of simply having slaves do it for him.

                He loved his independent streak. He'd been demanding to do things on his own since before he had memory -- his nannies had told him so.

                No, scratch that. He hated his independent streak. It had cost him everything. It continued to --

                NO, _HE LOVED HIS INDEPENDENT STREAK_. Time to go rustle up some foreign imports!

************************************************************

                "Tell me, then."

                "Your Worship?"

                "Tell me the reason your actions were justified. Let's hear it."

                "Oh, it was no malice on our part, my lord. We have no grievance with the Inquisition. It's just our families, sire, we've no coin with which to feed them anymore -- "

                "That has got to be the worst lie I've heard in months." _And I play cards with Cole_. "I saw the arms and armour taken from you and you comrades. I know how many sovereigns go into that calibre of craftsmanship. _Moreover_ , the Inquisition is known for its protection of the victims of this insane, baseless war, and not a one of you petitioned for aid."

                Silence fell in the hall. Lavellan stared down the leader of a small gang of bandits, and a chill settled in the air.

                "Your Worship, I can explain."

                "How many Inquisition members did you kill?"

                " ... sire... "

                "I caution you, my friend, I already know the number. I also know how many were soldiers, and how many were there on relief effort and to manage the supply chain -- that is to say, _unarmed non-combatants under my employ and protection_. Either you remember this number, and you will shame yourself by admitting it in front of all here assembled, or the blood on your hands is so forgettable that you do not."

                Lavellan allowed only a few beats of silence. The leader's jaw was set, his eyes looking anywhere but up at the severe Dalish in front of him. The scraggly humans that followed him were eyeing each other uneasily.

                "Tell me, stranger. Are you Andrastian?" The bandit leader blinked up, his surprise contorted by his sneer.

                "Are _you?_ " Lavellan stood, and he hit his knees on the stone floor. "Sire! I am _so_ sorry, sire! I did not mean -- "

                " **I do not care if you love the Maker,** you pathetic little shitstain, but tomorrow we will find out if he loves you." He cocked his head to address Josephine. "Arrange their executions for tomorrow morning."

                The four followers all broke out then, pleas of "We were following orders!" and "We didn't know they weren't soldiers!" resounding off the walls of the hall. The din of the frantic was mounting, and Lavellan cast a hand out to cut them off.

                " **YOU WILL BE SILENT!** " Two years ago, would he have had such utter obedience? Wind whistled through a window the next floor up, and it echoed through the hall. "You wish me to believe you are so morally bereft that you will kill without conscience at the behest of another, with no thought for the living beings you target? You wish me to believe you can't tell a bloody chef or clerk from a soldier, but you're willing to kill them all just to be safe? I see no reason why these arguments should spare your useless hides. Your beloved Maker willing I will take all your heads on the morrow, and you will have a very brief lesson on why mercy for the weak is not the same as mercy for the wicked."

************************************************************

                The filth and rabble of a port was never quite the same as any other town. There was so much transition, so much chaos, and so many conflicting influences in such a place -- the migrants and workers added flavour, but those who lived in such a place tended to have a code and identity all their own. Laws and lips were loose, the unwashed held more power than was ever reasonable for people of their station, and everything came down to your attitude, wisdom, and how easily you could be cleaned out. Dorian couldn't help but smirk at how positively plebeian he had become, that such a place seemed almost endearing to him.

                The sun hung low in the sky, glittering off shallow waves. Well-mannered folk who wanted no trouble were all turning in for the night, in large part on the advice of innkeepers and locals. His own innkeeper had taken one look at him and suggested sleeping off his travels, but it was all the more reason Dorian wanted to see this place after dark. His face was a perfect mask of haughty disinterest as he strode down one of the main thoroughfares now, watching poorly practiced thieves navigate the thinning crowd. Sera would have laughed at the whole affair, at his own curiosity not least of all.

                The first pub reeked of piss and vomit already -- not a good sign. There wasn't much of a crowd yet, but the number of seats packed between the narrow walls meant mobility would be seriously hampered even at only half-capacity. If the wilderness of Thedas had reinforced any of his upbringing, it was the wariness and constant appraisal of his surroundings. You can't trust bandits, you can't trust the nobility, and you _really_ can't trust people pretending not to notice you. At least dire bears were honest, but even they required an exit strategy and enough space to cast in. Dorian cast an unhopeful look across the bar, and it lost its last chance at his patronage. He tried not to breathe too deeply as he slipped back out, scuffing the soles of his boots to remove the grime. Okay, maybe he wasn't _entirely_ common yet.

                He was surprised at how badly he missed the crotchety young man (by dwarven standards) that ruled the Herald's Rest. And yes, ruled was exactly the right word for it. No matter who was tending bar, that place had to be up to a certain standard. Rowdy was fine, uncouth was encouraged, but violence unequivocally got the boot and excrement was explicitly banned. Running a tavern frequented by soldiers apparently required a stern hand, and Cabot had been it. In return for their compliance, he'd actually made a point of carrying liquors and spirits above the bare minimum swill required to fog a mind, and Dorian rather resented the wistful feeling his heart was supplying. There had been the "eugh, this is _better?_ ", the "you're not even trying", and his personal favourite, the "if I _must_ ". Hell, right now he'd even settle for the "maybe if you give it ten years".

                It clicked suddenly, though it was impossible to know if it was true wisdom or just foolish foreigner stereotyping. Not only was Cabot a dwarf, but trade with the Deep Roads supplied some of the best liquors in all Tevinter. Being so close to Orzammar, _and_ a port city, there must be at least one dwarven-run establishment here! By the Maker, he would find it.

**********************************************************

                The pounding in Lavellan's head was almost overwhelming as he made the safety of his chambers that night. He'd been trying not to push his luck since realizing he had luck to push, but the bastards didn't really give him a lot of leeway. He had way too much to do to indulge them as often as they wished, but apparently "re-establishing peace and order" did not trump his new responsibilities. A quick flick of the wrist started the fire in the hearth first and foremost before he made his way up the rickety ladder.

                The upper ledge in his bedchamber had been converted into a small shrine (a most unpleasing, unbefitting embarrassment, _yes, thank you, I know_ ). The chants were starting in his mind, images swelling behind his eyes; it made him think of the moment right before he pissed or belched, the moment of knowing what was about to happen and why he was there

                -- _OKAY IT WAS A BAD COMPARISON --_

The stone was hard on his knees as they landed with a crack. Coniferous boughs were practically unpacking themselves, with all the mental presence he could muster right now. He didn't know the rituals. Even if he'd bothered to learn the Dalish prayers, he

                _Our Protector, our Goddess, you are the strength at our backs_

doubted they would have been sufficient for what these damned priests wanted. Of all the uncertainties he'd had taking them in, the demand for ritual should have been a foregone conclusion.

                _Shelter us from the darkest storms, that we may survive to do thy bidding_

Lavellan could barely get the draping off the shrine -- an insistence of his, not theirs -- as the hundreds of voices surged to the fore. Once he'd gotten accustomed to the intrusion, it had felt less like clamouring of actual voices and more like each being was exerting pressure as they lent him understanding. Some knew how to shapeshift, and damn, if he didn't want to pin those down. How potent a form could he take? Could he cast --

                Fir and pine and spruce, mercifully easy to come by in Fereldan (and even in the lower reaches of the Frostbacks). Candles, some dark and some light, impaled on placements built of quillback and phoenix bone and whittled tips of dragon rib

                -- when he was in non-elf form? Could

                _It would probably be easier if I didn't fight it. Even now, even adorning the altar, I apparently can't fucking help myself._ The voices couldn't argue. There wasn't enough sentience left in them... nothing but memory and purpose. _Every damned time._ The headache was getting worse. If anyone was getting Her blessing, though -- !

                _We submit to you the wild, ragged edges of our souls, that you may guide our hand in your name. Mythal, our Protector, let us learn from the path we have left at our feet. Let us_

Protect Dorian.

                _learn from our actions and those of others, both those foolish and those which have done good, that we may find our way_

He is a good man. He is a just man! Mythal, God and Protector of the People, I beseech you --

                _through the tumult of mortal existence. Teach us to rely upon our own power, that we may never --_

The candles were lit. The voices fade. Purpose reigns.

                _Mythal, guide my hand. I rule humans, rule human lands, but I am still of the People. In your name do I alleviate suffering, and in such also do I deliver swift and unquestioning justice. As I live and govern, keep me righteous, and when I fall, ~~put a good word in for me with~~ guide me to the Lord of Death. As your_

_Dorian. Are you listening? PROTECT. MY. DOR_


	20. Too Heavy to Pick Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan has a job to do, but outside of that? A struggle to find direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't let this fic end on that last chapter. Fought a bit to work through it, but this chapter and the next are finally done! If anyone is still reading this... thank you. :)   
> Comments, criticisms, all welcome!

                If the first three days were long, the next four were an eternity. Antivans were charming to be sure, but a deeply ingrained sense of hedonism meant business was a perpetual headache. At least in Orlais you always knew everything was part of the Game, and part of the party _was_ the business. With Antivans, well... if business wasn't fun it didn't happen. Maybe? Lavellan was pretty sure that it had to be _inspired_ , otherwise it was all wine and fine cloth and those delicious little pastries. With them, a party could just be a party, no strings attached. Unless the mood took them and the strings _were_ attached, of course. Mythal preserve his patience. Josephine had set them up for six days in Skyhold and planned for nine. She was reassuring him every day that he was doing well -- after all, they would not leave without concluding their affairs, and talking tariffs and trade route stability would be infinitely more pleasurable on the dance floor than it would be sitting around a bargaining table, forcing everyone to concentrate. No table in Skyhold now was without wine, no wall without ostentatious drapery, and pages and scribes were hanging about every corner.

                It struck Lavellan funny that for the first time since the world failed to end, he was finally happy for Solas. The cantankerous old elf would have hated this. Or would he? Halamshiral had really seemed to tickle him, now that he thought about it. No accounting for taste, really. Vivienne, on the other hand, was absolutely not having it. She certainly did her duty as part of Skyhold's social elite, and to those who didn't know her she was as smooth and pleasant as silk on bare skin, but to those who'd travelled and fought and broken bread with her for the past couple years, her disinterest and disapproval were palpable. Some sort of Inquisitorial gift would definitely have to be procured as recompense for her assistance.

                It was to Lavellan's great relief that he was approached during after-dinner entertainment on the fourth night by the head of the delegation. Josephine would have been proud to see his sweeping bow, not quite low enough to mark him lesser and with enough flourish to make him appear truly pleased at their appearance. The woman's right hand was placed light and open upon the man's left as they walked, each as if leading the other. They drew level with Lavellan and he drew himself upright, accepting the woman's hand as she removed it from her partner's. His lips grazed the back of it, an understated grin at their corners.

                "My Lady Alessia, you honour me. Are you enjoying your evening?" She teased her finger across the tip of his chin with a tilt of her head.

                "You well know the quality of your hospitality, though I admit I did not expect to find such here," she replied. Thank the Creators she wasn't Orlesian -- her tone came out teasing rather than condescending. Lavellan extended his hand in turn to the man at her side, a nobleman of similar rank within their guild. The man placed his hand in the elf's, and in a moment of what he would only remember as arrogance, he kissed the back of it as well.

                "My Lord Marius." His eyes lingered a beat too long on the human man's before he pulled back into proper form, folding his hands behind his back and eyeing the scene about them. "How can I be of assistance?" The Antivan did not bother to suppress a small smirk.

                "Inquisitor, you have done much for us already. Alessia and I were discussing this very thing over dinner, in fact." Her eyes cut over, calculating but pleased as they met her partner's.

                "I am humbled, of course." Lavellan tipped his head with a smile.

                "My dear, I suspect that is seldom true, but from where I am standing it would appear confidence has been well-earned." Oh, he liked this woman. "You may be at ease, Inquisitor. We require no more than that which you have already agreed to provide."

                "My lady..." Lavellan watched as she gave a casual flick of the hand, summoning the nearest standing page. "Am I to understand that the rest of your visit shall be less business and more pleasure?" He cut his eyes at Marius, internally enjoying at the smirk he still wore.         

                "You may so assume," she replied. "May we continue to avail ourselves of your hospitality while our agreement is drawn up?"

                "It would please me to no end. Two copies, to be signed and dated and kept in most amiable confidence." He gave a nod to the page, who returned it before scampering off post-haste. Josephine was going to be so proud.

*********************************************************

                Play with Antivans was hard work, and after another two nights of it Lavellan was dog-tired and done with polite conversation. He found himself in the Herald's rest the same evening of the day the delegation left, three beer in to Cassandra's one and Cullen's two. Cabot was charging him two pieces a pint same as everyone else, and he couldn't have been happier about it.

                "Seriously, is this not exactly what we have Josie for? She could have had it done in a day. She knows I'd sign anything she asked me to." He took another swig of ale, grimacing as the dregs hit his tongue. "Is that bad? I feel like that should be bad."

                "If it were anyone else, perhaps. She is a formidable woman." It was high praise, coming from Cassandra.

                "I could have a lot more sympathy for you, had you not left me at Leliana's mercy." Cullen pointed an accusatory finger at the elf across from him. "I can't attend a single dinner anymore without wondering which of the attendees has been sending me love letters. Letters which _you_ never should have let her keep, thank you so very much." Cassandra snickered her complete lack of compassion into her stein.

                "At least your romantic lunches are over within a couple hours," Lavellan huffed. "That political gala just lasted me almost an entire week."

                Three ale turned into five, which turned into taller-than-usual glasses of subpar wine. Cullen turned into Varric, Cassandra turned into Sera, and Varric soon decided to turn in to bed. As the night stretched on, it found Lavellan's mood stretching thin. He began to move from table to table, changing seats with every drink. He spoke to his friends, then to his acquaintances, stopping short of attaching himself to his soldiers and the nameless denizens of Skyhold. All the tension from entertaining the Antivans had drained out in a wash of relief, but that relief was leaving him the longer he sat. The further it fled, the harder it became to ignore what was underneath.

                Strain was high in his voice. His interest waned. His laughter grew false, inserted at appropriate times as per social convention, ringing hollow as it echoed off the emptiness inside. It was one thing to ignore the weariness while on a mission, even if the mission had been wrapped in silks and pastries. Alone in a crowd with no goal, no mission, the void was opening again under his feet.

                Cabot poured off something hard for him, taking his coin without question. It tasted as caustic as it felt going down, the whole thing hitting his gut in a single draught. He grit his teeth and gestured for a second. He wanted it to burn him inside out, to drive this hell out of him, if only for a night. There were no good nights anymore.

                Lavellan turned to look for Sera, but she was long gone. He didn't know when he'd stopped answering her. His eyes skimmed the crowd. The simpering, grovelling, obedient crowd, living and fighting and fucking under his banner. Bastards were starting to get unruly. He was itching to bring them back in line.

                He turned to gesture for a refill, but Cabot was way ahead of him. His glass was already full, and the dwarf was four steps down the bar, tending the garden of drunks. With a nod that may not have been acknowledged, he stepped off and began to manoeuvre his way through them.

                If sober R'ae were here, he'd tell the Inquisitor to go the hell back to his chambers and sleep it off. This was just one more night, one more night in the limitless number of nights he had to survive. There was nothing to be gained here. Nothing good could come of this. That said, sober R'ae wasn't here, and this one was restless and yearning for the heat that battle brought to his limbs. He wanted to feel alive again. He _needed_ to feel alive again. It was almost enough to make him miss the damned Venatori.

                Almost.

                A loud crash and burst of raucous laughter drew Lavellan's eyes to the far wall, where the Chargers were making the most of their evening. Someone was on the floor, and by the smug look on Krem's face, he was the one who'd put them there. The rest of the Chargers were busting their guts as Bull picked up their dwarven companion single-handedly, righting his chair as the guy dusted himself off. Two servers were watching Cabot, presumably waiting for the word to pitch them out, but Krem raised his hands in a look of surrender and instead of getting the boot, the surly bartender began pouring them off a fresh round. Lavellan couldn't help his incredulous laugh. The look of sincere apology on the man's face slid into a cheeky grin as he watched the bartender, earning him a clap of approval to one shoulder as they went back to carousing.

                Bull's lieutenant was a piece of work, no doubt about it. He was a fine swordsman on the field, better than many, with a good eye for sizing up a situation and keeping his people safe. R'ae leaned a touch heavy against a support post as he watched him banter with the rest of the crew. He gestured only modestly and laughed freely. His face was open and expressive. His lips as he talked, the set of his shoulders as he leaned in to make a point, were... intriguing. It occurred suddenly to Lavellan that while he may not have a fight to the death available to him right now, he may not be entirely without options. Krem would be strong enough to stand up to him. Might even be good enough to fill the hole in his chest, if only for the night. His mind supplied an image of the man's neck stretched out, hair tousled, back arching, and he downed the rest of his drink.

                His glass was refreshed and his hands almost steady as he approached the two tables they'd pushed together. He hoped his stride and expression came off as confident instead of predatory, still self-aware enough to know it was a fine line. _Keep it vague. Don't come on strong. Give him just enough to make him wonder_. He flashed his best smile as he drew close, bracing himself against the swell of voices. Bull had done well in choosing his little group. They were so alive, energy radiating from them in waves, washing over him in cold contrast to the aching pit inside. Bull greeted him loudly, and he latched on to that for all he was worth.

                "Sight for sore eyes, boss! You don't make it down to mix with the rabble very often," he teased. He kicked out a chair for him, putting Lavellan at the end of the table and at the edge of the chaos.

                "Hall gets awful drafty on nights like this," he replied, eyes skirting over the crowd quickly to fix on Krem's. "Helps to have warm bodies around." Shifting his gaze again just as quickly, he tipped his glass at the qunari to his left. "And, of course, to pour a little fuel on the fire." Had the big guy's grin slipped for a second, or was that the booze making him paranoid? Lavellan took the chair, keeping his attention on Bull. "You lot certainly know how to liven up a room, but I suppose I should expect no less from you."

                "Never a dull moment, whether you want one or not." The sincerity was there in Bull's smile, his welcome genuine now if ever it wasn't. R'ae couldn't help but return it, settling in as the banter picked back up around him.

                The longer he sat with the Chargers, the more Lavellan began to chastise himself for letting his mind get so clouded with liquor. It was throwing him off by important seconds -- how long had he been watching Krem? How many times had he caught his eyes? Too many, too many. Maybe? On which side was it better to err? Had he missed a chance for a witty retort? Was he coming off as creepy? _Ugh_. He sent for another drink, and decided it was best to relax and re-evaluate. Hard to make any sort of impression in a tight group like this without drawing the wrong kind of attention.

                And by the Creators, did he need to _relax_. He turned to Bull, sharing a laugh over some trivial joke. A quip, a retort, a bad pun, and he felt a small wave of happiness ghost over him. More laughter. Some arm-wrestling at the other end of the table lost him two silver to the horned bastard -- _he's a healer! What the hell??_ \-- and before he knew it, R'ae's smile was genuine again. He flicked the occasional glance in Krem's direction (even caught him looking a couple times), but let himself get lost in the charismatic tidal pool that was the Iron Bull.

                Until the end of the night, naturally. Skinner caught a lot of teasing as the first one out, wholly unashamed as she answered their taunts with a wink and a smirk. Grim groaned in disinterest as he pushed out his own seat, and the exodus began. One by one the bodies began to pile out. Lavellan stood and stretched, tasting the last of his drink as he waited... and Krem stood.

                "Krem! That is, lieutenant, forgive me. Do you have a moment?" The human's eyes flicked to his face, eyebrows raised. They flickered again to look at something behind him, and refixed on R'ae with a grin.

                "I've got plenty, sir. Don't know as I can say the same for you. _Sleep well_ , Inquisitor." He gave a knowing grin and a quick bow before turning on his heel, leaving Lavellan completely confused. Maybe sober he'd have had a quick comeback, but not tonight. Tonight, he turned to see what Krem had found so funny.

                Bull had stood up, too. His body was a larger mirror of R'ae's, overshadowing him completely. He was one step closer than propriety demanded, and as the elf's eyes took him in, he hooked two fingers into the smaller man's belt. Not pushing, not pulling, just holding. Lavellan looked up into his eye, but Bull stood unmoving before him.

                "You got something to say to my second, you can say it to me." It wasn't a suggestion, and the deep tone caught Lavellan by surprise. He put his hand on Bull's, stopping short of pulling those fingers from his pants.

                "He's a big boy. He can answer for himself." He should have been angrier that Krem was walking away, that the damned qunari might have actually cost him something tonight. The laughs were over, and he was going to start emptying again at an alarming rate. His emotional flow valve was broken as hell. But those fingers had curled just a hair tighter, and heat was radiating off that broad, grey skin. The man had a chest that went on for miles. Mythal, but the booze had been a bad idea. He couldn't keep it on the rails any more.

                "A big boy, eh?" That damned deep chest rumbled with laughter. "Well what he hears, I hear, so you may as well tell me now." Bull leaned his head closer, looming large in Lavellan's personal space. His voice dropped, meant for one ear only as the chuckle faded from his voice. "Tell me, _Inquisitor_. What is it you want?"

                Lavellan's pulse was pounding hot and close to the fragile skin of his neck. He felt exposed in a way he'd never felt around the qunari before, watching as eyes unabashedly roved over his ear, his lips, his jaw. _Hungry_ was the only way to describe that look, hungry and... amused? Really??

                "I'd watch what you ask for, _Captain_. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." A sharp edge was in his voice, defiant and confrontational. "Besides, your boy's plenty fit. He should be more than able to -- " _Gasping_ was the only word for the next sound out of Lavellan's mouth. Bull had angled his body so his back was to most of the bar, half-full as it now was, in an effort to conceal the fact that he'd just bitten down swiftly below the ear he'd been speaking into a moment before. Chastisement rose and died in the elf's throat, burnt away in a rush of... what? Desire? Need? Desperation?

                "I'm not the one getting hurt tonight." Two fingers uncurled from Lavellan's waistband, leaving him untouched. "Now I'm heading into the Great Hall. You have until I get to your door to decide whether you're going to invite me in, but if you do, that's the last decision you're making tonight." R'ae's whole body was thrumming. Krem would have been fun, but Bull? The qunari was two heads taller and had almost two hundred pounds of muscle on him. Or at least he would, if R'ae said yes. The challenge of subduing, or of being subdued...

                "And if I don't invite you in? If I say no?" Bull smiled serenely.

                "You've the right. You gonna say no, boss?" Lavellan swallowed thickly. A couple beats of silence fell before he shook his head ever so slightly, the trace of a smile on his lips. "Walk on ahead, then. Give me something to think about."

**********************************************************

                Lavellan's hands were on Bull's chest the minute the door was closed, shoving him back against cold stone. Or trying, anyway -- the man was as immovable as the wall behind him. His wrists ended up pinioned behind his back, crushing him forward, his face burning against so much bare skin. He bit one pectoral with a growl, and found himself tossed over a shoulder and carried up the stairs. The sheer strength of the man under him was turning him on in a way he'd never considered -- he tried to kick out fruitlessly, arms steadying him against Bull's back, and received only a chastising smack to the ass for his trouble. It was as if he weighed nothing at all. He couldn't twist close enough to bite his neck, wasn't far down enough to bite his ass, and his arms weren't long enough to reach around and grab anything of note. He'd been rendered all but powerless within a couple seconds, and it had him almost growling in anticipation.

                Bull dumped him unceremoniously on the rug in the centre of the room. Lavellan did not even bother standing up to meet the qunari, opting instead to rush his knees. One bad leg staggered, but he was sturdy enough to stay standing. Bull grabbed hold of his right arm but missed his left, hauling him to his feet all the same. R'ae swung the free arm up to get a bit of purchase as he reached up to bite the larger man's neck. Well, not quite his neck -- that lovely rounded trapezius muscle, so much larger than Dorian's but just as satisfying between his teeth. That thick, beautiful muscle that used to make him cry out for more...

                The moment ended with the elf's second arm trapped. Bull put one big boot behind his leg and shoved forward, and Lavellan went down on his back. Easily, mercifully, Bull half-caught him mid-fall, saving him the crack of a skull off rock (though little else). The qunari knelt over his thighs, pinning his legs unequivocally to the ground. He was dizzy with drink and lust, and as Bull moved to pin him by the forearms, Lavellan's hands stuck between his back and the floor, he felt his body begin to acquiesce.

                "Stubborn little shit, aren't you." Bull's voice was deep and gravelly, and R'ae rolled his hips almost without thought.

                "I've been told."

                "I just bet. You here to give me what I want, little Inquisitor?" Lavellan's eyes snapped back to Bull's face, his smile all teeth.

                "Not tonight, I'm not. Tonight you're gonna have to work for it, or you'll end up tied to the bedposts and I will fuck you until you roar." One eyebrow quirked in what looked like sincere surprise before Bull managed to check himself, breaking out into a rolling laugh.

                "Big words from the man on the floor. But they're just words, and we both know it."

                "Let me up and find out."

                "Don't have to. You wanted to top tonight, you sure as hell wouldn't have accepted the offer I made. Now, little elf." Bull leaned closer, though not so much as to overbalance or put him within biting range. "You're going to tell me what it is you want." Lavellan's face was a snarling mask, but he didn't argue the point.

                "Fine, smart guy. Maybe you made a good case. Doesn't mean I won't make you work for it."

                "Answer the question."

                "What? You want to know what I want? That eye have its limits, does it?" Lavellan rolled his hips, cock a hard presence under his breeches. "I want you to take me. I want you to throw me around and split me open and make me scream." His lips parted slightly as he ground upward, eyes rolling in frustration as Bull slid back a bit and left him with nothing but air and tight leather.

                "Liar." He shook his head. "A good lie, but you won't get a grade for quality."

                "Fuck you it is."

                "See, you just gotta think about it a minute. I think sex is what you're after, but it's not what you want. Not really." He straightened up, looking the smaller man dead in the eye. "You want to know why you came with me? I wasn't even the one you wanted but you followed anyway, because all you want is the white noise. You want to push all your shit to the outside, let the physical take over until it's finally enough to focus on." The silence between them fell heavy, and Bull went on. "You want me to make you scream, yeah. You want me to throw you around, sure. But maybe you want me to use you and bruise you because maybe then you don't have to think about anything else anymore, nothing but me and you and what's gonna come next. And when I walk out of here, you won't care how far it was from what you _really_ wanted."

                Lavellan blinked slowly up at Bull. This train hadn't just gone off the rails, it was on fire in a gully. He felt the sore, aching emptiness inside, and he knew the truth. He just wanted something to make the hurt stop. He'd fallen back on fucking, sure, but what he'd really wanted in the first place was to fight, to feel alive. He wanted this room to mean something else, anything else. He was his own worst enemy. He'd hurt the man he loved most, driven him away, and yet Thedas still sang his praises. He hated the guilt and the doubt and the self-loathing, hated the way they chewed at him and wore him down. The feeling he hated most of all was the feeling that he deserved them.

                "I... Fuck, Bull. Don't fucking kill this."

                "Got a few things I want to kill right now. You'll have to be more specific." His voice had lost its rough edge, faded back to his normal rumble.

                "If you didn't want to fuck, why did you even bother??" Lavellan tried to surge up, but Bull wasn't any further away that he'd been a moment ago. "You know what I _don't_ want? A lecture. I have the right to bed whomever I please, and if you don't want that to be you, then keep your hands to your fucking self next time."

                "To a damned point, you do, and you know very well I am the last person who will give you shit for having a good tumble. But this isn't about a good tumble. This is about the fact that you were going to turn my second-in-command into prey because you're on some self-destructive bend lately."

                "Are... you're seriously doing this to protect Krem from me? Creators, Bull! He's a grown man!"

                "And you are the damned Inquisitor, so _start acting like it_!" Lavellan blinked in surprise as Bull bellowed down at him. "Did you even stop to think what you looked like tonight? Been paying attention to how you've been behaving lately the minute you're not on display? This is not the damned woods, and you are not just a nobody who can drink too much and fuck and fight like some angry human. This sullen, petulant thing you've got going on? You are better than this, and you need to start acting like it." The stone around them was dead silent as the qunari quieted. His gaze was firm, unwavering, and it was all Lavellan could do not to scream.

                He wanted to. Mythal, he wanted to scream bloody murder, scream until his throat went raw and every guard in this miserable keep came running. All the shit he'd been ignoring and trying to drown was a sinking, bilious whirlpool in his chest. No fighting tonight, no. No fighting, no fucking, and not enough booze to drown his brain. Guilt and rage with a fresh wash of humiliation for colour swam about inside, taunting and mocking. If he could even feel nothing right now, it would be better than this! He began thrashing and snarling, a half-furious, whimpering, inchoate noise that swung between begging and threat. It got him about as far as he expected.

                He gave a few last fruitless kicks before settling against the cold stone. His heart ached, and Bull was right. His heart wanted to vomit, but his stomach wasn't in it, and Bull was still right. His small, fragile, Fade-marked elven body went limp in defeat, and still Bull's weight rested upon him.

                "Didn't realize him leaving would mess you up this bad."

                Lavellan considered not answering, another petulant act in a chain of self-indulgence. The escapist lie instead, then: "It's not about him."

                "Sure thing. Let's say it's about you, then. Let's say you bound yourself so tightly to someone that you didn't know how to react when they turned away. That better?"

                "Sounds great." Lavellan's eyes fixed studiously on the feet of his bed. He'd meant the words to come out caustic, but in his own ears they rang with fatigue and defeat. "I'm so aberrant, being upset when my -- y'know... because the person I cared about left me. Let's go there instead."

                "I've never sworn by Koslun before, but you're gonna make me start here in a minute."

                "Thought you weren't in for that tonight."

                "If you were qunari, I could just hit you with a stick until you smartened the hell up. They really do make this shit so much easier." Bull shifted his weight then, groaning as he extended his bad knee. He released Lavellan's arms as he slid to the side, sliding to lean back against the foot of the bed. R'ae eased himself to sitting, leaning back on his elbows, but Bull gestured him closer. "Get over here, you squishy little mage."

                "You can't be serious." The corners of the elf's mouth twitched upward slightly, a hint of an incredulous laugh behind them.

                "You're damn right I am. I am going to cuddle the shit out of you, so get over here and deal with it." He pulled Lavellan into his half-crossed lap, awkward gangly legs laid out over thick battle-hardened muscle, and angled them so his chin fit over the Inquisitor's head. "It's no _katari-kost_ , but as far as weird southern customs go, this one has its merits."

                "Katari...?"

                "The stick that -- you know what, never mind. Look, boss... it's okay to be sad." Lavellan scoffed, but Bull held him where he was and he took the hint.

                "Kind of putting it mildly, Bull."

                "Fair enough. What I'm try to say is that the shitty feelings that you have are okay to have. It's okay to be upset when you someone you care about is taken from you. It's normal to feel helpless that you couldn't stop it. The shitstorm on the inside is a part of you, and it doesn't help to pretend it doesn't exist. _But_ ," he continued, as Lavellan moved to speak again, "it also doesn't help to feed those feelings. There is nothing to be gained by keeping them around. In the long run, they don't help."

                "There is, though. I should..." He took a deep breath, letting it out slow as the qunari waited. "I need to learn from it. I can't let this happen again. I can't... I need to remember to do this differently -- " _next time._ "I've earned this. Just let me have it."

                "Not to sound like a hypocrite here, but you need to take it easy with this need to control everything."

                " _What!?!_ "

                "I know, I know, it kinda got shoved onto you and it's why we all survived and I know it's part of the whole Inquisitor thing. I _know_. But it doesn't work the same with your friends, boss, and it sure as hell doesn't work with those firebrand wild-spirit types. Being able to manage things the way you do is important, but it's like any other skill. You need to apply it where it's needed, and pick a different one when the situation calls for it." Bull fidgeted, rubbing one hand over his forehead in exasperation. "Look, I'm getting off-topic. _My point was_ , you can tone and train your heart and mind just as much as you do your body. It's not an easy place to start, but you can accept and acknowledge these things you've got going on, and then you can lay them to rest. Not being able to control Dorian doesn't mean you deserve the hurt associated with the outcome. This isn't about victory or defeat or failure. It's about dealing with a shitty situation."

                Bull's broad arms tightened as he felt Lavellan's shoulders slump. He rubbed his fingers gently through the rough-shorn hair on his scalp and up to the base of his braid. He took a long, slow breath, letting his chest expand out and gradually back in as the smaller man curled in against him. When the words finally came out, they were a whisper of admission. "I don't know how to do this."

                "I know, boss. I know."

                "I don't know what else to feel. How can I think about him and feel anything else?"

                "What about that love everyone's always going on about, hmm?" Lavellan scoffed.

                "It's what got me into this mess in the first place."

                "Then it's only fitting for that to be what gets you out of it. You do still love him, right?" The elf nodded in silence, just barely. "Then maybe for now, do that instead."

                "I don't know if I'm strong enough for that." _I need to hurt. If I hurt, that makes it ok. No one else will punish me for failing him, failing us._

                "You _are_ strong enough, as long as you're not fighting yourself in the process. Say it with me, boss: I don't want this. I don't want this." He nudged the elf in his lap.

                "I don't... I don't want this."

                "... We'll work on the 'being convincing' part." Lavellan let out a weak laugh, and Bull smiled as he moved on to rubbing a big hand over one shoulder. They sat that way for a moment, wind whistling outside the stained glass, before R'ae broke the silence.

                "You're a good man, Bull."

                "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to keep."

                "Should've just hit me with the stick."

                "Haven't entirely abandoned that plan yet."


	21. Call of the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finds a ship's captain. It goes drunkenly.

                Finding a dwarven tavern a mere two days' travel from the doors of Orzammar was unpleasantly difficult. Dorian, dressed up as he was, was shown his way to a public privy, a coat closet, and the same shameful shithole of a bar he'd already been in by the few who would deign to speak to him. He'd been told to get the hell out, fuck the hell off, and go the hell home (what a suggestion, thank you sir, I should have thought of that!).

                He was now done asking politely.

                Taverns in Jader were clearly marked (in case the loud drunken sods inside became too subtle, he supposed). Dorian threw open the doors of the nearest one that didn't look completely hopeless, tilting his chin up ever so slightly and rolling his shoulders back as he entered. He may have been slumming for the last few years by Tevinter standards, but he apparently still had enough presence for the commoners of a port city. The glares were less pointed and more wary. The armed angled their bodies toward each other instead of taking swaggering steps forward.

                The bartender, for her part, seemed torn between a poor diplomatic choice and a potentially rewarding financial one. She did not wave her patrons out of their seats as he approached the bar, staff strapped brazenly to his back. She barely slowed in her tasks, pouring drinks and scanning the room, having orders sent out and calling back for the kitchen, but her eyes flicked back toward him every few seconds as he approached. Dorian almost felt bad; how many of his countrymen strutted through local taverns such as this? They were likely few, but he knew as well as this bartender did that they almost invariably spelled trouble.

                He picked the weak link in the chain of elbows at the bar. Not the old man with rheumy eyes and stiff hands, no; he'd likely have moved but he'd have friends, inspire defensiveness in the crowd. Not the dock workers; locals tended to bond against outsiders even if they sniped amongst themselves the rest of the time. No... it was the almost-handsome man drinking alone, sneering at his liquor while ignoring the bustle and bawdy songs. No friends among the men. Clothes from out of town. No one on his arm. Dorian sidled up, pushing into the space between he and the next patron, leaning heavily toward him.

                The elbow aimed at his gut hit his enchanted robes with enough force it'd leave his assailant a bruise. Dorian cut dark eyes at him, daring him to speak, daring him to force the issue.

                "Mage filth." Because _of course_ he did. Why was it always about magic around here? He kept his composure schooled into disinterested neutrality as he caught the bartender's eye.

                "Send this man his next drink to his new seat, at my expense." It wasn't an offer, wasn't a question. He pitched his voice a bit, loud and direct enough he knew she would hear. One arm slid onto the counter as Dorian affected a small moue of distaste. "And bring me the best dwarven spirit your establishment can offer."

                Those in the near vicinity had gone quiet, watching to see what the loner would do. The look the man was wearing was part outrage and part anger, but as Dorian slid his gaze lazily back to meet it, any resolve the man was courting failed. He slunk off his stool, waving the whole affair off as he listed drunkenly toward the door.

                "Keep it. I'm going the hell back to my rooms."

                Noise started back up around him with relief as Dorian slid into the recently vacated seat. The bartender slid a couple more orders back to the kitchen before striding down to face him -- she was a busy woman, and he was not going to make or break her night.

                "Dwarven spirits, you said."

                "I believe I did."

                "And which one, exactly, were you hoping to find?" Her eye fixed his, and his stomach sunk. He'd miscalculated. She was a businesswoman, for sure, but it meant she would serve him in spite of who he was, not because of it. Damned port city locals. Why was this so hard?!

                "I was hoping to find the best this town has to offer. Are you telling me you don't carry it?" _Which I am totally fine with, by the way, so long as you point me to the place that does._

                "You have a funny way of making an impression, stranger." She gave him a blatant once-over before heaving a heavy sigh. "You figure out what the hell it is you want, and I'll serve it to you. 'Til then, I've got ale to pour." Several sets of eyes were leaning over the end of the bar, and she hollered at them to shut the hell up as she grabbed for a set of empty tankards, filling them two at a time.

                "That any way to talk to yer bread-and-butter, Ninni?" one of them hollered.

                "You're more the mould on my biscuits, Kay," was the quick reply. Her voice lilted with a local accent, slinging booze into raucous laughter faster than they could drink it, and it occurred to Dorian that he'd felt less isolated in a tent in the middle of the Hinterlands than he did right now.

                A small chuckle too close at his back almost had him jumping out of his skin. He spun in place to find a woman he could easily call dangerous and sultry, in that order. "Well, well, my lost little magister. I believe you owe me a drink."

                "I am afraid you have me mistaken, my dear," he replied, his displeasure making it easy to maintain an air of casual disinterest. "I am neither lost, nor little, nor _yours_ , and believe me when I say I remember everyone to whom I have ever owed a debt." His words earned him another laugh.

                "Nor are you a magister, kitten, and that was _my_ mark you ran off just now, so I think you do." Dorian furrowed his brow, only to be met with an enigmatic grin. "Come on, Inquisition, wipe that sour look off your face. You buy me a drink, and I'll show you where to get it."

                He regarded her outstretched hand with no less than overt surprise. Really though, compared to what was looking to be another strike-out, what else could he say?

                "You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine." He put his hand delicately, properly in hers, and let her lead him through the throng of people to the door. The seductive cut of her clothing was likely meant to distract from it, but as Dorian watched her move, he could tell she was deceptively well-armed. It was a bit impressive that one could wear so little and yet hide so much.

                "I think I'm going to like you," she informed him as they hit the evening air again.

                "How lucky for me," he shot back.

                "You have _no_ idea. So, Inquisition, what do you want me to call you?" He paused only briefly, opting to test the waters.

                "Rilienus. How did you know?"

                "Friend on the inside." She gave him a sly wink as she stretched her arms lazily, not taking her eyes off him. Waiting for the reaction.

                "Tell you that from all the way over there, did they?"

                "As if. There aren't a lot of Tevinter noblemen hanging out in taverns this side of the Waking Sea. Seemed like a safe guess you'd be the one he'd mentioned."

                "This is a land of oddity, I grant you that." The woman laughed again as he crinkled his nose in mock disgust. He found that for how little he knew her, he already found the free, open sound reassuring. "So tell me, my dear, if we are to be besotted together: what would you have me call you?"

                She gave him a confident smile and a shallow bow, never breaking stride. "You can call me whatever you like, handsome, but my friends call me Isabela."

**************************************************************

                "You are _not_. Are you?" Dorian cocked an eyebrow, leaning back against the soft cushions of the booth they'd procured. The woman allowed herself a smug grin.

                "Believe it, kitten. Useless meat sack was barely dead a week and I was on a ship out of there fast as the water could carry me. Been a pirate every day since. Never looked back." She took a long drink, licking moisture from her lips as she drew the glass away. He may not be as good as the Bull, but he'd learned enough. She was still watching him, gauging his reactions.

                "Still, a pirate! It's almost romantic, until one considers what the living conditions must be like." He gave a small huff of amusement and drank deep from his own glass, angling his chin and stretching his neck a touch more than was necessary. He let his fingers linger on the glass as he set it back down, leaning a touch into the table. Two could play at this game, and he was hoping to have a distinct advantage.

                "They're what you make them. Honestly, the above-board work is when living gets shitty. I take enough of it that I don't get arrested on sight, and that is _it_. Lots of folk see a ship's crew as people trying to make a buck off a boat... it's the shadier elements that respect the fact a woman's got to make a living _and_ pay maintenance."

                "Honour among thieves?" Isabela gave a sharp laugh.

                "Profit and predictability, more like," she replied.

**********************************************************

                "It's -- it's not even the _point_ , you know?" One finger pointed directly into the pirate's face, waggling itself drunkenly for emphasis. She only cackled wildly, tears already streaming. "I'm serious! And he _knew_ I thought he meant he -- I mean me -- I mean he thought I -- the damned dwarf never even tried to correct me!" Dorian flailed his arms wildly in frustration.

                "Maker, just be glad it _wasn't_ you. Varric makes the whole affair sound a lot better than it was. I almost had to make good on that play! The boy may have been a puritan, but he had damn fast eyes." Isabela wiped a tear from her cheek. "Did he tell you this guy actually wore Andraste's face on his crotch?"

                Dorian lost himself to mad peals of laughter.

*************************************************************

                Dorian had to remind his inebriated mind once again that _no_ , taking the pirate to his own room would have been a terrible idea because she'd have robbed him blind. The second room they'd procured may have cost more coin, but it'd save him in goods. Flopping down on the decrepit bed had made him wish for the comfort of the forest floor, but at least she'd paid for half of it. And hey, there were bedside tables for the booze.

                "So I have to know, because Varric is so far up the Inquisition's ass he can see tonsils. What's the Inquisitor actually like?"

                "Varric is - wait - Maker, that's a disgusting image. But really? He _actually_ likes it there?" 'Bela cocked an eyebrow.

                "If Varric didn't want to be there, the second chaos landed he'd have been gone. He's all business on the surface, but never doubt that he is slippipper - sleppr - damned slick." She narrowed her eyes. "And answer the question, Ri. Is he all talk? Is he cold? A tight-ass? Is he some disciplinarian that -- shit!"

                Dorian spit out the mouthful of wine he'd made the mistake of taking. _A disciplinarian??_ _Only when..._ His face fell, and he was too deep in his cups to catch it in time. Isabela caught herself mid-cuss as she tried to wipe booze off the cheap inn blankets, eyebrows hiking up at the forlorn, miserable expression on his face.

               "It's not like that."

                "Sure looks not."

                "He'd never have built up the support he did if he were. He actually gives a shit, and even more strangely, people seem to get that. Hell, he's trekked halfway into the middle of nowhere just to bring blankets to some people that he met two months ago because we were 'going to be in the area again'. No one is _ever_ in those areas again! It's why the mad bastards were able to dig in so deep in the first place!" Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, blood and screams mercifully hazy under the wine. "So to answer your question, his reputation is well-earned. He isn't like any of the _magisters_ back home." He practically spat the word. "Lavellan is the sort of man who would see the world better than it is, and will drag it kicking and screaming if he has to. He has strong hands and a warm heart, and..."

                "And it doesn't hurt that I hear he's damn easy on the eyes." Dorian tapered off, hoping against hope that his skin tone offset the warm blush he felt creep on. Isabela gave a knowing smirk. "Kind of a pity for the lady-folk, though. I hear he's got a thing for hot foreign men."

                He couldn't even put up a fight at this point. Of course she knew. Even hot, deadly pirate queens from across the sea knew he belonged to Lavellan. His head sagged, and she pulled him down to lay it her lap, setting his wine glass on a side table. "Varric?"

                "Easy guess, handsome. Even if you _hadn't_ told me you were Inquisition, how many Tevinters do you think there would be this close to Skyhold, armed and alone, who are genuinely nice people carrying fake coin purses for the road?" He quirked an eyebrow as she threw him back the small leather sack he'd been carrying just inside his outer robe. It was full of nuts and bits of iron ingot Harritt had cut into slivers for him -- completely worthless. A trick Sera had taught him many, many campfires ago. He sighed and gave in, head heavy against her legs.

                "So what do you want, then?"

                "Kitten, I've _got_ what I want. I have my own ship and my own crew, and so long as I keep my mast clean I've got first pick at the good jobs."

                "I'm not a kitten."

                "Alright, tiger." She stroked his hair, and as miserable as he was, he was glad of it. Even if he'd never had any secrets from her in the first place.

                "My name's Dorian."

                "I know. Whatcha doin' in Jader looking for passage north, Dorian?"

                "Surprised you don't already know that, too."

                "Pretend I like making conversation." He snorted, rolling gracelessly onto his back to look up at the pirate.

                "It'd be pretty much the only reason to ask. Anyone who knows the first thing about me knows... well, I wouldn't get invited to many dinner parties back home, let's say that. Only one reason to go back, really."

                "Fashion?" she grinned.

                "Fine liqueur. And the fact that it is so blighted _cold_ down here!" Dorian flailing earned him more indulgent laughter from Isabela. "I don't know how you wear so little. I would freeze to death! Small wonder Ferelden's culture is all but atrophied... they must spend all their time just surviving the seasons."

                "Can't tell you that, handsome. I'm all Rivaini." He watched with a small smile as she swept a blue bandanna off her forehead, shaking out her long dark hair. It swept around her face in kinked curls and waves, obscuring her peripheral vision and therefore line of sight. It was nice to be trusted... he would miss it. "I don't know what to tell you. Land is just land, dirt and rocks and stinky-ass druffalo and full of people. The people themselves are fucked up no matter where you go, so if I stop anywhere for long it's because I've found a few good ones I don't want to live without yet."

                "You spent a long time in Kirkwall. With Hawke." There was no hiding the wistful look on the pirate's face at that.

                "With Hawke," she echoed. "It all ends the same, though. Ignore me. I don't know what I'm saying. Best advice I have is to stick to the job, get it done, and go find the next one. Then you don't end up wondering why the best person you found on the whole blighted continent has fucked off to the Anderfels _without you_."

                "At least you know she's still alive. You should have seen me when Lavellan plunged headfirst into that Fade rift." Dorian stretched out and sat up, grabbing their goblets. He passed Isabela's to her and tapped it clumsily with his own. "Here's to being left behind."

                "Says the man doing the leaving," she retorted. She took a long swig before shaking her head at her own statement, leaving Dorian looking sickly next to her. "Sorry. Not ok. 'S probably not the same, I know."

                "No, no. Honesty is good. The bite reminds you that you're alive. Maker, what the hell did I get myself into?" Isabela gave his shoulder a commiserating pat.

                "I know that feeling. So how the hell did _you_ end up here?"

**************************************************************

                The next morning dawned too early and too bright for Dorian's liking, with entirely more female in his bed than he was accustomed to. He hoped he was first to wake because it simply wouldn't do for a complete stranger to find him half-cuddled, half-sprawled across her, but the groan she gave as he shifted his weight wasn't promising.

                "Is all Tevinter this blasted hot?" muttered Isabela, words half-lost in her pillow. "You're like a well-toned furnace."

                "I'm not sure whether to accept that statement or not," he replied. He was a shit healer, never had a talent for the art, but the one rudimentary thing he'd taken the time to learn properly was how to mitigate a hangover. Cool ripples of yellow and blue sunk into his splitting skull, padding its walls and refilling his veins. His mouth began to generate saliva again, by the mercy of the Maker. It was completely unfair that one should wake up so badly dehydrated and yet still so desperately in need of a piss, but at least his magic could take care of one those things.

                "Don't need you to accept it for it to be true." She peeked out from under her hair with one squinted eye and moaned in jealousy and pain. "Is that what I think it is?"

                "Probably not. I can't rebalance the humours or any of that shit." A few blinks of his eyes and moisture began to clear his corneas again. "Just quicker than a trip to the pump is all."

                "Andraste's pillowy tits, show a little mercy, would you?" Eyes scrunched shut against the sun, Isabela shuffled toward him with what was possibly the world's most piteous look on her face. "Think of the women and children, messere! Shower us with your magnanimity!" Dorian cackled, running two hands through his unkempt hair.

                "And which children would these be, pray tell? I may not be an expert on the subject, but I'm _pretty_ sure it requires more than what we did to make those." He settled his hands down on the pirate's head with a smile, letting a wash of magic run in. Her forehead smoothed and lips spread into a relieved smile as the searing headache began to abate.

                "You've got me, sailor."

                "Confused again, darling. I'm about as far as one can get from a sailor. Or from being one, anyway." Isabela caught the saucy grin and returned one of her own.

                "Maybe in the past, but you've never had a captain like me." She sat up, making only a passing effort at taming her unruly Rivaini hair before grabbing her bandanna again. "I'm in port for another week or two at best, waiting on a bunch of Antivans to finish playing nice with your Inquisition. We sail 'em straight back to Antiva City when they get back, but after that we're free. We find a job and go where the water takes us." The pirate straightened her skirt, her hair, and her tits, and flashed an almost-honest, mostly-sincere smile at Dorian. "I could use a man like you on deck, and I don't make that offer lightly."

                "You. Want me. To sail."

                "That's the gist, yes. And sometimes use magic, even. Intimidate the wicked, charm the useful, all that nonsense that gets us paid and keeps us afloat." She was up and pulling on her boots, a thoughtful look on her face. "I know you say you're aiming for Tevinter, but of everything I heard last night, none of it was about where you were going. You need to keep moving, I can offer you that. You want more of those stories, you'll get 'em. Horseback could never show you the world the way the sea does." Isabela straightened up and flashed a wicked grin. "You want a way out of Fereldan, darling, you could do a lot worse than sailing with me."

                It was only his many years of social grooming that kept Dorian from being completely speechless at the offer. "I believe you, for what it's worth, but I'd make a terrible sailor. Not an hour out of port and I'm hung off the side for the rest of the trip. Ruins the mystique, you see." He threw on his outer robes as he spoke, cinching and buckling with practiced hands.

                "I have to admit, of all the excuses you could have used, I'm surprised you went for that one. Seasick, really?" One hand was on her hip, an eyebrow cocked.

                " _Yes_ , really! Swear it by the Maker. More's the pity, too; I think we'd cut quite a figure together." He smiled as he stood, taking one of 'Bela's hands in his own. "My dear, I am a complete wretch on the water. Anywhere that doesn't support civilized comforts, really."

                "Watch what you say about my ship, boy."

                "Ahh -- apologies." Isabela sighed, taking her hand back.

                "Alright, love. Just try to do something for me, would you?" Dorian raised an eyebrow and smirked.

                "You'll not be the first woman I have to disappoint." The pirate grinned amiably and shook her head.

                "You're a suspiciously good man, you know, best one I've met from your country. I'm glad you got out, because I don't know how you survived there as long as you did. And maybe going back is what will make you happy, but maybe it isn't. Find the thing that sets you free, Dorian." She reached up to fix a few errant pieces of hair. "Find your sea, your ship, and your crew, whatever they may be. Call me biased, but without freedom, what's the point?"

                "I wish I knew what to say to that. I suspect if I did, it would answer a great many questions for me right now." Isabela passed him his boots with a last shrug.

                "Well then, maybe just say you'll look me up again if you don't end up shipping out."


	22. Home.

                Rain fell heavy on Skyhold, cool drops threatening an early end to autumn. Patrolmen stayed under shelter as much as they were able, trying to avoid the chill that came with sodden padding. Outdoor lamplight, covered as it was, still guttered and dimmed as the winds began to pick up. Lavellan's westward balcony was soaked and slick. Lavellan, out on his westward balcony in naught but loose linen pants, was also soaked and slick. The damp and cold was settling deep in his bones, bringing a perverse sort of satisfaction as discomfort mounted into pain. His hands gripped the railing all the tighter in the flickering dark.

                He'd done better this week. The look on Bull's face after this night's feast had told him as much. He'd been keeping unruly drunkenness for his own quarters, avoiding the temptation of the tavern entirely. Work had flown on and off his desk as he redoubled his focus, pushing his mind through task after task. Most importantly, he'd put more effort into trying to treat his people the way he always had; after all, they had nothing to do with his situation. It wasn't their fault, they weren't part of it, and he cared for them no less for his failure. He was even considering asking Sera to help him make cookies; Mythal knew he could use some right now.

                His bones were slowly turning to ice, the sharp sting of the wet and wind biting hard into his extremities. Rivulets of cold ran out of his hair and down his bare back, but they couldn't quite stop the rivulets of warmth that slid down his cheeks. He'd done better at managing himself, but the hurt was no less for it. There was nothing that was going to take this away. The plush armchair was still empty in the library, weak sunlight filtering over unread books. There were still too many pillows on the bed. It had been several days since he'd last had time to shed a tear, but here he was again tonight. Wind lashed at his pale skin, howling around the tower in a fit of elemental pique, but Lavellan hung on. He would wait this out, let the overflow inside him run out and into the dark where no one could see. He would keep this out of his rooms, his bed, his life.

                A full-body shudder went through him as the rain above stopped abruptly. He rubbed at his upper arms as he looked up to discover that no, the rain hadn't stopped at all -- it was hitting an invisible wall of force and sluicing outward, pooling at the edges of the stone and running off into the dark. The small barrier resonated against his own magic, completely unthreatening. His mind must have been desperate tonight; it even felt familiar. A swell of longing rose up to choke him, even as he wiped the water from his face and took a steadying breath, turning to meet the intruder. _Bastards just can't leave me alone_.

                Of course, if there were one bastard he wished would _never_ leave him alone, it would be the one standing before him now. Perfect black hair, meticulously kept moustache, warm amber skin and a bare shoulder greeted (and destroyed) Lavellan's wretched scowl. His eyebrows shot up, his jaw dropped, and he took a single tentative step back through the balcony door before catching himself.

                "Don't gawp, Inquisitor. It's unbecoming." Dorian made to cross his arms, opting halfway through the motion to leave them awkwardly at his sides. Lavellan shut his mouth, still speechless, blinking the sting from his eyes. Every fibre of his being wanted to wrap himself in the beautiful mage before him and never let him leave again, and so he was sure to stand very still.

                Dorian, of course, could no more be still than breathe water, and began slowly pacing across the room. His hands fidgeted with his clothing as he spoke.

                "I got some advice I didn't need from a complete stranger last week. A lovely woman in Jader, pirate by trade." A small smile broke on his lips at the memory. "It was well-intentioned at any rate, and it got me thinking about what I want. What I need."

                "Perhaps a collar with a bell on it?" Lavellan immediately flushed, internally chastising himself for his choice of words, but Dorian merely chuckled.

                "Good try, but no. I need _purpose_ , R'ae. I need goals and challenges, ideals to which I can strive. I need to be a force of change in this world. I refuse to rest on my laurels, even if it means basking in well-earned public adoration." He stopped pacing, looking down as he twirled his rings.

                "A purpose like saving Tevinter." Lavellan supplied. Dorian was silent for a moment.

                "Like saving Tevinter," he finally agreed. "Now that Corypheus is dead, I can think of no greater aspiration than ridding my homeland of the cancerous filth that has infested it. It is an incredible nation, one that does not need war and hatred and blood sacrifice to make it great. We need not be the monsters of legend. We have so much to offer. We could be an example to all Thedas! Can you even imagine it?"

                "Not so clear as you," the elf confessed, "but, Dorian..." _We've already had this talk. Do we have to do it again?_ _Why did you come back??_ "Do... do you need help?"

                The glare on the human's face could wither stone. It was the first real look he'd given Lavellan since he walked in. "You think I trudged all the way up this bloody mountain to ask you for help, in person, in the middle of the night?"

                "No." Lavellan's voice was small. "I don't have the first clue why you came all the way back." Old anger flared in him at the scorn in Dorian's tone, but it lacked heat, and so he bit back all the cruel things he could say. To the heart of it he went, instead. "I wish you would tell me."

                "You wish... I suppose you would. My dear Inquisitor." The mage sighed deeply before him. "I could return to Tevinter now, it's true. Nothing is stopping me; not even yourself, it would seem. But there is much to be done before I arrive. I need a strategy, resources... I need to strengthen old ties and learn where I should seek new ones. I need to learn all the new players on the field. Hell, I need to make sure I will even survive long enough to see these things put to use."

                "And Skyhold is the safest place for you, bar none."

                "It's true, but ironically irrelevant. Tevinter is a cause that is dear to my heart, and someday I _will_ go back. You need to know that." Lavellan looked up from where he'd been staring at the floor. Dorian advanced, stopping a few paces shy of the elf, sad eyes searching his face. "But it is not my only option, not today. I told you I was given advice, and it was this: that I should seek the source of my freedom, whatever it may be."

                "Your freedom?" Lavellan rubbed absentmindedly at his arms again as a chill went through him.

                "I suspect what she meant was happiness, but honestly, it made me realize that I already _am_ free. I am free to choose when and if I leave, and so long as the invitation is still open, it means I am also free to stay. I am free to choose a different goal, a different purpose, and there is still so very much to be done here, if I choose to do it."

                Lavellan stared dumbly, teeth starting to chatter. _Don't move. Don't push him_. _Do nothing_. His stomach was in knots, and it occurred to him that he was very, very cold. "Such as?"

                "Well as much as I adore Seeker Cassandra, I daresay she could use a hand sorting out how to create a _proper_ Circle. She would certainly need trustworthy persons to help oversee them and maintain order as they start out again. And I can't imagine related duties would preclude me sending the occasional post back home." Dorian was studying his hands again as he spoke, unable or unwilling to look up. "It would involve a certain amount of travel if she accepted, I'm sure, but that's nothing new, and there would be _conditions_ , of course..."

                "Of course." Lavellan's voice was almost a whisper. "Dorian, so long as I have any say in the matter, you will always be welcome. Even if you're... I mean..." _Even if you're not here for me_. "Our relationship, or lack thereof, will never change that." He scuffed his feet quietly on the stone before turning to the stained glass doors. Dorian let drop what was left of the small barrier as they closed, leaving just a rhythmic tapping on the dark panes. "I get it," the elf told the doors before him. "We weren't on the same page. I asked for something you weren't willing to give, and I'm sorry."

                "You're a fool, amatus." Dorian's voice was thick behind him. "I don't know how I am ever going to live without you." Lavellan turned to see his face, as open and honest as the man had ever been, and a lump rose again in his throat. "I'm not coming back for _Cassandra_ , you daft tit. I am coming back because I love you, because I cannot bear the idea of wandering to the other end of the world without you by my side. Running off the way I did was rash, uncalled-for, even. The truth is that I am in over my head when it comes to us, to put it mildly. I do intend to make plans for my return home, just... not today. Maker, not today. I love you, amatus, and I am here because until those plans are final I don't want to spend any more time away from you than is absolutely necessary." Warm golden eyes dropped to the floor with a self-chastising scoff. "Assuming this is not all overly presumptuous on my part, of course. If that is the case, do tell me to shut up any time now, would you?"

                Half-formed witty retorts died in the making as Lavellan watched his lover twist, uncertainty warring with conviction and courage. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "Yes. Not to the -- I mean to say -- don't shut up. Never shut up, you'd explode from the pressure of keeping it all in." He gave a weak smile at his own joke. "I missed you."

                "Well who wouldn't?" Dorian quipped, a relieved half-smile on his lips. His eyes glistened ever so slightly as he opened his arms, a warm glow starting in his hands. "Now that's settled, _get over here_ and let me warm you up, because you are positively frozen and I can't bear to watch this any longer."

                R'ae stepped forward, slowly and oh-so-carefully, into Dorian's waiting arms. They closed around him, over his shoulders and around his back, gentle and cautious and _real,_ touching the raw hurt he'd failed to leave on the balcony and breaking him open anew. He buried his head in the crook of the human's neck, eyes crushed shut against the burn of tears. He slid his own freezing limbs around Dorian's strong frame, clutching harder than he ought to, _can't let go_ , musk and spice and leather smelling like his own heart had finally come home. If Dorian's hands in turn clenched hard in his hair and shook where they smoothed over cold wet skin, Lavellan did not mention it. Heat spread from his hands and arms into the elf's silently shuddering frame, trailed down his cheeks onto wet shoulders, lost in small patches amidst leftover trickles of rain.

                "I'm sorry, _amatus_. I never meant to hurt you like this. I'm sorry. I am so sorry." The words ran together, a whispered plea for forgiveness.

                "It's okay, don't be. It's not your fault." Lavellan managed the breath of a chuckle as Dorian scoffed against him. "Not all your fault, _vhenan_. I was bitter. I pushed too hard. Don't be sorry." Even the leather of travelling robes under his fingers was as a salve for his soul, supple and well-worn and familiar. The warmth of the spell burned a little against his flesh still, warring against the deep chill in his bones, but he stayed put.

                He nuzzled into Dorian's neck, lank wet hair earning him a cringe and a hissing gasp. Lavellan couldn't help but chuckle, rubbing into him again like a giant cat, cold strands sticking to rising goosebumps. The tight ache in his chest began to loosen as Dorian pretended to shove him off, all bluster and no force.

                It struck the elf funny that this was the sort of thing love was made of.

                "When I offered to warm you up, I did not mean at _my_ expense!"

                "Hardly my fault you were non-specific."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much more shit floating around in my head of these two, but who doesn't with their oc and their LI? I am going to leave them here and happy BECAUSE I CAN, and if someday I decide to come back to them, so be it. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos, and especially to anyone who stuck around from before the hiatus. This is the first time I've ever had the courage to let anyone read anything I've written, and I only plan to get better at it. This fandom is the best. :)


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